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SKETCHES OF BUTTE 




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Sketches of Butte 

(From Vigilante Days to Prohibition) 



BY 



GEORGE WESLEY DAVIS 

AUTHOR OF 

" Dancing Girls of Cairo," " On the Danube and the Rhine " 




THE CORNHILL COMPANY 
BOSTON 






Copyright, 1921 
By the GORNHILL COMPANY 



^/- nioi 

J0L28;02l^ D^ 

0)CI.A622438 . 



FOREWORD 

In writing these sketches, I have avoided, 
as much as possible, the over-written mines, 
courts and pohtics. 

I shall give a pen picture of a wonderful 
Western camp, the good and bad of an un- 
usual people, the joys and horrors of the 
largest mining camp in the world, a city of 
many contrasts. 

The Butte of the early days is passing, 
and like many of what were once the frontier 
towns and camps of our great Western coun- 
try, the picturesqueness of its life is passing 
with it, so that, even today, it seems neces- 
sary to make a narrative of personal experi- 
ence or observation, as most old-timers of the 
"diggings" are averse to talking of early 
days, except in a general way. Perhaps it 
is because of a fear of throwing light on 
shadows of former days, — a time when life 
was reckless. One must have lived in those 
days to picture it as it was from the begin- 
ning of the placer diggings down to the 



vi Foreword 

present day. It is imy wish to be fair with 
all classes and give conditions as they have 
existed from year to year. I trust that this 
fact alone will justify my taking the reader 
from places of joy to sections where tragedy 
stalks about the streets. 

Many of the great mining camps today 
are ghost towns — Bannack, Cripple Creek, 
Tonapah and Goldfields are scarcely more 
than memories of their tempestuous past, and 
their history has largely died with them. 
Butte alone remains individual, distinct, 
apart, greater today than ever before, a city 
now, although throughout the world referred 
to as a camp, the most wonderful the world 
has ever known, half ashamed of its past, 
yet like unto no other of our important cities. 
George Wesley Davis. 



CHAPTER ^^^^ 



CONTENTS 

I Vigilante Days 3 

II From Virginia City to Butte ... 21 

III The Stranger's First Glimpse of Butte 27 

IV Wandering Around 31 

V "Dope'' Colony 40 

VI Cemeteries of Butte 51 

VII Many Joys ^'^ 

VIII Foreign Population 64= 

IX Extremes in Society 68 

X Some Interesting Characteus ... 76 

XI At the Old Country Club .... 101 

XII Corrupting Fellow Men .... 115 

XIII The Crime of Blackmail .... 123 

XIV Patriots and Traitors 131 

XV The Hanging of Frank Little . 136 

XVI Mainly About Houses 140 

XVII The Plague 14<9 

XVIII Going Dry 163 

XIX At the Present Time 171 



ILLUSTRATIONS 

"The Richest Hill" Frontispiece 

FACING PAGE 

Vigilante Notice 3-7-77 11 

Indian Wrestler 33 

Rural Life of Author 58 

Bucking Pinto 105 

The Old Town 145 

Invitation to Hanging 171 



SKETCHES OF BUTTE 



SKETCHES OF BUTTE 



Chapter One 
VIGILANTE DAYS 

In the early sixties Montana was infested 
with bandits of the lowest type. The first 
successful reform movement was, planned and 
accomplished by the Vigilantes. That was 
before my day in the west; a time when 
Henry Plummer and his associates terrorized 
Montana and Idaho. 

I can best tell the story of the Vigilantes 
as it was told to me by one who lived in the 
territories in those days. He was an old man 
I met in the office of a little hotel in Virginia 
City who gave me the story of his early life. 
I had just returned from a walk down Alder 
gulch to Nevada, a camp two miles below, 
where, in early days, wild and picturesque 
characters panned gold. It was a fascinating 
walk as the sun's soft glow melted into twi- 
light; sparkling waterfalls sang in the eve- 
ning's quiet, and nature seemed a fairy 
dream. 



4 Sketches of Butte 

At twilight here the world is mystic, 

And the purple canyon seems 
Brooding over the empty cabins 

Ghostly in the pale moon-beams. 

Here they flocked when life was cruel, 
Rough hard men of rugged mould. 

Driven to earth's farthest places 
In their quest for harder gold. 

But tonight stars blink and quiver, 
And trees whispering seem to say, 
"When gold failed they quickly left us 
Here in solitude to stay." 

As shadows deepened deserted cabins 
seemed weird in the mystic twilight. Trees 
with their fresh spring green sparkled like 
myriads of jewels, as stars broke through 
from above. 

Being a lover of natm-e more than of the 
artificial life of the city, I walked slowly 
through the still canyon, but life's current ran 
swiftly in my veins. Pines whispered to the 
rippling waters, and the whole atmosphere 
was delightfully fascinating. White peaks, 
where the sunlight lingers long, were darken- 
ing as I reached the hotel. I bathed my 
hands in a basin of cold water that stood in 



Vigilante Days 5 

a corner of the office, and dried them on a 
roll-towel that hung close by. The place 
was used as office, bar, and sitting-room. 
A barber's chair stood in one corner. 
Wooden cuspidors, with sawdust in them, 
were here and there about the floor, but the 
loungers seemed rather to try at hitting the 
stove w^hich stood in the center of the smoke- 
filled place. ' 

The old man who told me the story of the 
first Vigilance Committee was quick-witted 
and well read for one practically self-made. 
He was vigorous, but his shoulders were bent 
and many lines showed in his pleasant face. 

He was a Mormon who had drifted away 
from the cold, commercial life of the colony 
at Salt Lake. 

"The first name given to this camp," he 
said, launching into the story, "was Varina 
City. The name was given in honor of the 
wife of the Confederate President, Jefferson 
Davis, but afterwards was changed to Vir- 
ginia City. 

"My mother was a New England woman," 
he continued, "and imparted to me the love 
and affection of her people. She was never 
a Mormon at heart." 



6 Sketches of Butte 

He sat for a moment his eyes resting on 
the floor. I asked him why she married into 
the Mormon church. His answer was: 
"Please do not ask me." His sad voice 
dismissed the subject. 

"My father," he said, "was an Enghsh- 
man; strong mentally, but slight of physique. 
My mother was his fifth and last wife. By 
the five wives he had twenty-five children. 
All who lived were both mentally and phys- 
ically strong, and, I think, above the average. 
When I was a boy just passing into man- 
hood, my father talked to me of the future. 
I listened — that was all. He said to me that 
day; 'My son, you will soon have reached the 
age when it will be wise for you to take unto 
yom^self a wife. I am going to tell you how 
I chose my wives, and I wish you to follow 
my example.' 

"He told me how the sire gave the mental 
characteristics to a child, while the mother 
imparted the physical. As he finished he 
said, *So, son, in selecting a wife, look for 
physical charms as a farmer would select a 
desirable spot for a garden. Do not allow 
that emotion the Gentiles call love to enter 
your mind.' 



Vigilante Days 7 

"Wliile listening to him my thoughts went 
out to a httle schoohnate. Although only a 
boy I loved the little girl devotedly and re- 
volted at my father's suggestion." 

"Did you marry her?" I interrupted. 

"Yes," he smiled. "We kept our secret 
from the world, guarding it as we would a 
great treasure. When I reached the age of 
eighteen, my father again talked to me and 
suggested I take my first wife. I was then 
a man grown and fully able to provide a 
home." 

"I suppose you were not long in deciding, 
were you?" I said, in a joking way. 

"No," he smiled again. "She soon became 
my wife. 

"As the colony at Salt Lake grew to be 
a city," he continued, "the people spread out 
to nearby territories, my people coming to 
this state — then a territory. We left Zion 
one morning at sunrise. My father, his wives 
and younger children, my wife and myself, 
comprised the little band that headed for 
Bannack, our future home. We were two 
months making the journey, for we suffered 
much from small bands of renegade Indians 
and often spent days in hiding. At such 



8 Sketches of Butte 

times it was necessary to blindfold our horses 
and muzzle their mouths, the covering being 
removed only when they were fed and wat- 
ered, for their whinny would tell the Indians 
of our whereabouts. 

"When on the march and camped for the 
night I would take my place at the edge of 
the little camp and sit with gun in hand 
during the long, lonesome hours of the night, 
guarding the loved ones while they slept and 
taking my rest during the day as we jour- 
neyed on. My wife drove the horses while 
I slept on the bed of the dead-ax wagon." 

"Did you not have mattresses?" I asked. 

"No," he laughed, "of course not. At first 
we had ticks filled with dried wild grass, but 
at different times when we were in hiding 
the contents of those ticks had to go to feed 
the horses, for they could not get the native 
grass. Before we reached Bannack the last 
tick had been emptied and we were sleeping 
on the hard boards of the wagon-bed. I chill 
when I think of those nights of watching, 
and the heavy mist that came just before 
the break-o'-day, shutting from view the 
bright stars, and spreading its gray mantle 
over the slumbering earth. It was damp and 



Vigilante Days 9 

frosty. Trees and rocks sparkled like ciys- 
tals, while the blue-green sage-brush was like 
waves of silver spangles." 

I watched him closely as he spoke. There 
was an exquisite refinement beneath that 
rough exterior, and the picture he gave was 
beautiful. 

'Tt was a strain every moment of the 
night," he said quietly, looking down, "and 
I was glad to see the morning star dim, and 
feel the air grow balmy as the crimson rays 
of the rising sun appeared. Those were 
anxious, but happy days. The buffalo and 
antelope wandered at will. We could kill 
prairie chickens, grouse and sage hens with 
a stick. 

"When we reached Bannack our trying 
days came, for the camp and surrounding 
country were cursed with a lawless gang of 
robbers and murderers who spent their time 
in gambling and licentiousness of the vilest 
description. Lewd women from the slums 
of Eastern cities were brought into the com- 
munity, and their resorts were hell-holes where 
manv men were entrapped, robbed and mur- 
dered." 



10 Sketches of Butte 

"Those certainly must have been stirring 
times," I interrupted. 

"Yes," he continued. "Men who fre- 
quented the dance-houses for recreation were 
reheved of every dollar they took there, and 
those who expressed themselves as opposed 
to the bagnios and revolting horrors were 
shot, or in other manner mm^dered by un- 
known persons. 

"As the days passed the ruffian power in- 
creased until it became absolutely necessary 
to take action. We were face to .face with a 
dreadful issue, and at last the better element 
arranged for a secret meeting to be held at 
my father's home. This meeting of strong 
and pure-hearted men took place just before 
dawn one cold winter night, that hour being 
chosen as it was a time when fewer people 
were astir. The men came one or two at a 
time so as not to arouse suspicion for that 
might mean death. 

"At the meeting we discussed the situation 
and the question, 'Have we the right to con- 
demn to death a fellow man?' The decision 
we came to was, 'Yes, we have the right to 
protect our wives, daughters, property and 
ourselves against the worthless element.' We 



Vigilante Days 11 

felt it a duty, in the absence of !the law, to 
become a 'Court of Justice,' to handle the 
question. We realized we were face to face 
with an organized body of murderers, men 
and women saturated with social vice of the 
most repugnant nature. 

"When a criminal was found in the com- 
munity he was quietly taken away and given 
a trial. If death was the sentence he was 
quickly hanged. If the sentence was banish- 
ment, he was taken a few miles away and 
told to go, and he never (came back, for he 
knew to return meant death. A suspicious 
character was warned to leave by placing 
3-7-77 on his cabin door, or pinning the nmn- 
bers on his pillow; 3 meant a grave three 
feet wide, 7 the number of feet long, and 77 
inches deep. 

"It was not long after the organization of 
the Vigilantes that peace and security came 
to the people, and a lock was seldom found 
on a door, for robbery became ahiiost un- 
known. 

"Then for a while came happy days. In 
winter time the firelight danced cheerfully 
in our little log cabin home, casting fantastic 
reflections on the whitewashed walls; and in 



12 Sketches of Butte 

summer time soft perfume of wild flowers 
filled that same room where little tots played 
with rag dolls. Oh, how I loved that life! 
Our home was filled with love — the exquisite 
old-fashioned love we see so little of these days. 

"A few years after peace and quiet came 
to us our happiness was marred by my 
mother's passing away. One day not long 
before death came I was alone with her. It 
was then she asked me not to become polyg- 
amous. This was not difficult for me to 
promise, for I had no intention of taking 
another wife. Not long after her funeral 
my father began preparations for a pilgrim- 
age to Salt Lake. Then a break came be- 
tween us, for he wished me to take another 
wife." The old man left his chair and walked 
to a window where he stood for a few mo- 
ments; then turning to me, said: 

"Come, it's a beautiful moonlight night; 
let us take a walk. I will show you an old 
scantling down the street where many lynch- 
ings have taken place." 

Soon after we had left the smoke-filled 
room, he tuiTied to me again and said: "I do 
not often have an opportunity like this. I 
get lonesome, and hungry mentally. My 



Vigilante Days 13 

wife has passed away and my children are 
all married, so there seems little else for me 
to do evenings but sit and listen to the clink 
of poker chips. When an intelligent 'tender- 
foot' comes along, I enjoy talking to him." 

He smiled as he looked up to the clear 
moon. "It is such a w^onderfully bright 
night, perhaps we shall hear a Montana 
nightingale sing before we return." 

We had gone but a few yards when 
he stopped suddenly. "Listen," he said. 
"There it is now." 

It wa^ the mournful howl of a coyote. On 
the brow of a nearby hill, in fine silhouette, 
stood the timid animal with head uplifted to 
the moon — the guardian of the night. "The 
time they seem 'to be bravest," he said, "is 
when the moon shines brightest. Whether 
or not the mournful wail is a supplication, 
human mind has never been able to tell." 

He stopped as w^e turned a corner. "I 
would like to show you the spot near Ban- 
nack where we executed 'Dutch John' and 
several others," he said, "but perhaps this 
will interest you as much. The biggest lynch- 
ing that was ever pulled off in the Territory 
was near here, but the first was in Bannack. 



14 Sketches of Butte 

"In early days," he continued, "this street 
leading into the gulch was lined with hurdy- 
gurdies, gambling-houses, bagnios, and other 
hell-holes that seemed necessary to the hap- 
piness of the free-rangers of the hills. Road- 
agents, thieves, murderers and robbers con- 
gregated here." 

We walked on in silence. Soon lie stopped 
and turned to me: 

"•Right here, one night, five road-agents 
were strung up. In full view of a crowd of 
people five ropes were swung over a beam 
you see here, a noose was made at one end 
of each rope and left to dangle over an empty 
barrel or box." 

"Were you one of the executioners?" I 
asked. 

He made no reply to jny question but con- 
tinued: "All but one professed to have some 
religion in his makeup, a something that had 
been asleep for years, but suddenly came 
from the dormant state and manifested itself, 
for on the way from the courtroom to the 
place of hanging, one of them turned to one 
of the judges who walked close by, and said 
in all earnestness, 'Will you pray for me?' 
The procession halted and the judge dropped 



Vigilante Days 15 

on his knees with 'Clubfoot George' kneeling 
on one side and Jack Gallagher on the other, 
and there offered up a fervent prayer for the 
welfare of the souls of the condemned road- 
agents, and then the procession moved on to 
the scaffold. When they reached the spot 
the condemned men were lined up, five in a 
row, some on boxes, some on upturned bar- 
rels. After the nooses were adjusted they 
were asked if they had any requests to make. 
'If you have, they will be heeded,' said the 
chief judge. 

" 'I want one more drink of whiskey before 
I die,' was Gallagher's last request, while 
Lyons begged to see his mistress. Gal- 
lagher's request sort of stunned some, and lan 
old-timer called in a loud voice: 'We told 'em 
that we'd grant their request, so give 'im a 
drink.' 

"He was given a generous 'shot' — a water- 
glass nearly full, and drained it to the last 
drop, refusing a 'chaser.' 

" 'Clubfoot George' was the first to drop. 
When Gallagher saw his companion swing, 
he called out to the throng of onlookers: 'I 
hope I shall meet you all in the hottest pit 
in hell.' The words had hardly left his lips 



16 Sketches of Butte 

when the barrel he was standing on was 
pulled from underneath his feet. 

" 'Kick away, old pard,' called one of the 
others, as the body swayed, 'I'll meet you in 
hell in a short time.' 

"After the last criminal had paid the pen- 
alty the bodies were left hanging for some 
hours and then turned over to friends if the 
unfortunates had any." 

"And I would be willing to wager every 
one had at least one friend," I suggested. "I 
do not believe the person lives who can 
honestly say, 'I haven't a friend,' and I do 
not believe there is a person living who hasn't 
some good in him. There is a grave by a 
roadside in the northern part of the state. 
It is the lone grave of a woman. An old 
weather-beaten fence is built around the spot. 
There is no marker to tell whose body rests 
there. Old-timers who know hesitate to tell; 
still she had one friend at least, for at Christ- 
mas season a wreath is placed on a picket at 
one corner of the fence surrounding the grave. 
Stage passengers who ask are told it is a 
grave, that is all." 

"Guess you are right," he said, as we 
turned from the scene of the tra^edv and 



Vigilante Days 17 

slowly started back towards the hotel. He 
was the first to break the silence, and spoke 
twice before getting my attention. 

"Why so pensive?" he asked. 

"I was thinking of Jack Gallagher's last 
request," I answered, "and of an early morn- 
ing back in Iowa when I was a young boy." 

"Tell me about it," he said, with much in- 
terest. "It is now far past midnight; your 
stage leaves for Butte at daybreak; suppose 
we talk instead of sleeping." 

I was glad to acquiesce, for I knew, should 
I go to bed, I might coax slumber in vain. 
I had a mental picture of Gallagher taking 
that, large drink of whiskey just before going 
to the life beyond, and memor}^ came to me 
of a still beside a river back East and men 
loading whiskey for Montana, and I could 
see two little boys in white night-gowns sit- 
ting on a fence watching men brand cattle 
to go with the whiskey, and I felt as if I 
were a partner in the deal. ' 

"If you say you will stay up I shall feel 
greatly indebted to you," he said, "and you 
can tell me why you were thinking of that 
last request." 

We had reached the hotel and taken chairs 



18 Sketches of Butte 

outside, as there was an all-night game on 
in the office and the players would have been 
disturbed by our voices. 

"Now tell me why you were upset over 
that last request of Gallagher's," he said, as 
he moved his chair close to mine. 

"I do not know why it should have upset 
me, but it did and I felt guilty," I answered 
slowly. "My uncle's first big stake) was made 
by bringing whiskey into Montana from our 
Iowa home. Now as I look back and see 
the men rolling barrels from the mouth of a 
tunnel where they had been stored since the 
beginning of the Civil War, I feel that in 
some way we were associated with the crim- 
inals. Who knows but what some of that 
whiskey helped to make them criminals." 

"Are you a prohibitionist?" he asked seri- 
ously. 

"No," I answered, "but I am strong for 
high license. High enough to do away with 
the grogshop." 

"I knew your uncle," he interrupted, "and 
I remember when he brought the whiskey into 
the Territoiy by 'bull-team.' He also was 
much interested in the Vigilante game, and 
if I am not mistaken, that is how he acquired 



Vigilante Days 19 

the title of 'Judge,' " he laughed, in a teasing 
manner. 

"Yes, I know that," I said, and I told 
how my brother and I, early one morning, 
crawled up on an old board fence and 
watched men brand cattle to di^ive overland 
with that 'bull-team.' 

"Did you ever go back to the old home?" 
"Yes," I said, and I thought how I had 
always regretted it. The childhood picture 
of my old home was that of a big, white 
house on a high hill; a house whose red roof 
dominated the whole landscape; a house 
whose windows looked down over a wide 
basin, and over a wonderful meadow, across 
a torrent river to a city with a background 
of wooded bluff. My longing to see the old 
home was great, so after many years I went 
back to the place. Then my happy dream 
faded away. The big house wasn't large. 
The hill was a rise of ground. The wonder- 
ful meadow was an ordinary field, and the 
wide, roaring torrent a placid stream. lowa- 
ville, the city of my dream, stood near the 
river; a store or two near grimy houses lean- 
ing awry, their broken windows staring out 
over farm lands. The schoolhouse, where 



20 Sketches of Butte 

children once woke the echoes, was tumbling 
into ruin. Fences were gone and tangles of 
brush and briar hid unsightly ruins that had 
yielded to the tooth of time. Now and then 
a lonesome dog-bark was heard, and I was 
glad to get away. 

"The reason I asked the question," said 
my old friend, "was that I was going to 
suggest to you not to go back. Things are 
never the same. People change. We change. 
Different environments change us. Our 
trend of thought changes, and it is always 
a disappointment. It is better to keep the 
old picture." 

While talking we had not noticed the 
approach of dawn. 



Chapter Two 
FROM VIRGINIA CITY TO BUTTE 

JNIy mind was crowded with recollections 
as I took a seat beside the driver of the 
coach. It was a bright, crisp morning. 
Deep shadows were fading as the sun's 
crimson glow mounted higher and higher 
into the heavens, kissing the snow-white 
peaks which were like sails on a great, 
purple sea, for the clouds hung low. Soon 
we were passing down the main street be- 
hind four prancing horses and wheeled into 
Alder gulch headed for Butte. 

Under a canopy of azure blue the scene 
had lost the mysteriousness of the evening 
before, and a spirit of life filled the air. 
Wild flowers that grew near the verdure- 
lined brook singing on its way to the valley 
below opened their petals and sent forth per- 
fume. Birds saluted with their songs the 
new and balmy day, and life seemed, oh, so 
full. 

I sat quietly drinking in the cool mountain 

21 



22 Sketches of Butte 

air and] feasting on the rugged scenery. The 
di^ver was the first to speak. 

*'I see you are a lover of nature," he said. 
"We are now passing over the first placer 
diggings of the state," he continued. "Up 
in Gold Creek the first nugget was found, 
but this was the first real ' diggings ' where 
the cradle was used. This road follows a 
trail that was blazed many years ago by the 
red man who lived the healthy, free life of 
the open long before the pale-face came 
bringing the vices of the East." 

"I suppose that is what changed the 
whole stoiy of his race," I interrupted, 
"from romance and poetry to squalor and 
poverty. In miserable camps on the out- 
skirts of towns they hover near slaughter- 
houses, some of the band gathering refuse 
while others sell polished horn and bead- 
work." V 

"I can tell you have been in Butte," he 
said quickly, as he touched up one of the 
leaders who was lagging. 

As we approached the valle}^ mauve mist 
was rising and the scene was like a beauti- 
fully fascinating estuary. In the bright 
morning sun the view that lay before us was 



From Virginia City to Butte 23 

a kaleidescopic joy. As we left the canyon 
the scene changed — so different but just as 
interesting, for it was a ghnt of the range- 
rider. 

On the range that sloped down to the 
valley hundreds of cattle were herded by 
picturesque cowboys, some silhouetted against 
the opalescent sky as the cattle fed on wild 
grass that grew on a rise of ground and as 
we rode on a breath of perfume came to us 
from the larkspur and sage brush. 

At Sheridan I stopped off for two days 
and then took a ramshackle stage for Butte. 
We crossed the Continental Divide, and at 
the mouth of Nine Mile Canyon stopped at 
a road-house, a place to which in those days 
Butte people drove for recreation. A place 
where the society woman and queens of the 
"red-light" sat side by side as they shuffled 
their cards, where the man-of-affairs and a 
"secretary" from the underworld stood in 
pleasant intercourse while watching the 
marble ball of the roulette table. 

We watched a game of faro for a few 
moments, and then passed on to the barren 
stretch that led to Butte. What seemed to 
be a low-hanging cloud hid the camp from 



24 Sketches of Butte 

view. Only a few mine stacks on the brow 
of the hill could be seen. 

To accommodate a passenger who wished 
to go to a cabin near Timber Butte (a hill 
where one lone tree grew amongst granite 
boulders, thus giving the butte its name), the 
driver turned his horses into a road leading 
past a Cree Indian camp, the city dump, a 
slaughter house and four cemeteries huddled 
together. The Indians we passed were rem- 
nants of a brilliant and picturesque tribe of 
warriors, now^ forlorn wanderers waiting the 
call to the "Happy Hunting Ground." 

Not far from along towards the city ore 
was being roasted outside in the grounds of 
a reduction works, the fumes rising in clouds 
of cobalt blue, fading into gray, as it settled 
over the town like a pall. Indians called the 
dumps of burning ore "stink piles." 

The driver reined in his horses as we en- 
tered the cloud of stifling sulphur and cau- 
tiously guided them up the hill. A policeman, 
with a sponge over his mouth and nose, to 
protect him from the fumes, led us to a little 
hotel in Broadway, for we could not see 
across a street. Lanterns and torches were 



From Virginia City to Butte 25 

carried by some to light the way through the 
sulphur cloud. 

I was tired after the long ride, and before 
going to my room for the night asked a tall, 
thin hack-driver who sat alone in the little 
office of the hotel if there was such a thing 
in town as a Turkish Bath. 

"Oh, yes," he replied, "a fine one." 

I asked him to direct me to it. It was in 
a basement at the corner of a street not far 
from the hotel. I walked to the place and 
passed down the steps into a joom that was 
used as office and barber shop. An attendant 
showed me to a dressing room. While dis- 
robing, I heard loud talking and laughter, 
both male and female voices. I paid little 
attention at the time, but when the attendant 
returned to take me to the bath, I spoke to 
him about it. 

"Sure!" he said. "We've got a 'swell' 
bunch tonight." 

"Do men and women go in together?" I 
asked. 

"Sure! Come in and meet some of the 
ladies," he said, as he opened the door. 

I asked him if they did not have private 
baths. 



26 Sketches of Butte 

"Sure!" he replied seriously, sizing me up. 
"Ye ain't skeered, are ye?" 

"No," I said, "but I do not wish to meet 
strangers tonight." 

He showed me to a private bath and as he 
closed the door, I heard him say to a man 
who stood in the narrow passageway: "An- 
other 'tenderfoot' in town." 



Chapter Three 

THE STRANGER'S FIRST GLIMPSE 
OF BUTTE 

The Easterner's first impression of Butte 
as he enters the city is of horror by day 
and joy by night. There is tragedy and 
romance in the very look of the place and 
one's breath comes quickly. The barren 
granite boulders of the richest hill in the 
world are terrifying in the sunlight, but as 
eventide comes on tears often dim the 
stranger's eyes, for somberness comes with 
the purple tinge that settles over the scene. 
The three railroads that enter from the East 
pass through tunnels in the Continental 
Divide, — a picturesque range of the Rockies, 
— for the city lies just over the Divide on 
the Pacific slope. One road, after leaving its 
tunnel, skirts the side of the Highlands rising 
above Nine Mile Canyon. As the train reaches 
the valley it passes the desolate cemeteries, 
then over the girders that span a slag-walled 
creek; on over tailing dumps to a trestle 

27 



28 Sketches of Butte 

where Frank Little was lynched, then into 
the station. 

Another road passes through canyons 
where, in the spring, the walls are bowers of 
wild rose and forget-me-not. In the rockeries 
many varieties of wild flowers bloom, and 
clear, cool water sparkles and sings as it 
dances over the stones. The train enters a 
tunnel, emerging in a few moments, and the 
passengers see below the only smelter left 
in the barren valley. The contrast is so 
startling they hold their breath. "It's more 
like hell than anything I had ever dreamed 
of," I heard a passenger say. Most of them 
sit spell-bound as the train quietly moves 
down the track leading past mines, through 
cuts in tailing dumps and past precipitating 
tanks on its way to the station. 

The other train from a valley on the At- 
lantic slope laboriously winds its way up the 
mountain side, and as it emerges from a 
dripping granite-walled tunnel the passengers 
see before them another valley on the Pacific 
slope, dotted here and there with road-houses 
where society and the demi-monde join hands 
in revelry. At eventide, when mist settles 
over the valley, and lights are on, these places 



The Stranger s First Glimpse of Butte 29 

look like phantom ships sailing on a gray- 
purple sea. When the passenger approaches 
the city at night, the impression is wholly 
different, and he exclaims with joy, for the 
eye sees nothing but beauty. 

Let us start from Jefferson Valley and 
climb the range called the Continental Divide. 

We will climb the rising hills 

Where the stately pine trees grow 

Towering o'er the sparkling rills 
That seek the valleys far below. 

There we'll tramp to nature's music 

While her beauty all beguiles — 
Tramp from mystic dusk-wrapped valley 

Through the green forest aisles. 

Till at last the gray mist spreading 

With the shades of eventide 
See us standing there together 

On the mighty Great Divide. 

While the beauty of the sunset, 

Like a tired child sunk to rest, 
To the music of all nature 

Now is fading from the West. 



30 Sketches of Butte 

While on the mountainside to northward 
Butte, her thousand lights ablaze 

Like a pall of brilliant jewels, 
Bursts upon the watcher's gaze. 

Cloaked by night a thing of beauty, 
Though ugly in the light of day, 

Yet even so her odd fascination 

Calls back her sons who go away. 



One thing in the city sunlight and dark- 
ness does not change, and that is "Fat Jack," 
the hack driver, Butte's most picturesque 
character. He met the first train that came 
into the city, and meets them all, day and 
night. His silk hat looms above the other 
drivers as he quietly says to the traveler, "A 
carriage uptown?" From the beginning of 
railroads into Butte, he has been the one 
chosen to draw up the hill all celebrities visit- 
ing the camp. When President Roosevelt 
visited Montana the last time it was "Fat 
Jack" w^ho met him at the station. When 
the Colonel came down the steps of his car 
he waved his hand, and called "Hello, Jack!" 
for the Colonel never forgot and they were 
friends in early days. 



Chapter Four 
WANDERING AROUND 

One night a friend came to me and said: 
"How would you like to go to the theater, 
and after that just wander around a little 
and take in some of the sights?" I was a 
stranger in town at the time and was glad 
of the opportunity. 

We started out and turned into Main 
Street and on down the hill. In front of 
a building with a sign over the door, "The 
Comique," a crowd was standing on the 
sidewalk. He turned to me and said: "We'll 
go around in the alley and enter that way; 
that's where the respectable people go in." 

We went to the next street below and 
walked on until we came to an alley. Not 
far up the passageway was a light hanging 
over a door. He opened the door and we 
passed up a narrow flight of stairs leading 
to the gallery — as it was called. In reality, 
it was a circle of stall-like boxes, each place 
a compartment with a bolt on the inside of 

31 



32 Sketches of Butte 

the door and a small slide where drinks were 
passed in. 

The front of the box — as it was called — 
that looked down upon the stage and floor 
below was enclosed by a wire netting. A 
scene was painted on this screen, the effect 
being that the occupants of the compartment 
could see all that was going on and not 'be 
seen from floor or stage. 

On the floor below sawdust was sprinkled. 
Tables for four were here and there about 
the auditorium. Girls in gaudy evening 
dress were waitresses and entertainers. At 
intervals one would mount a table and do a 
terpsichorean stunt, much to the amusement 
of the loungers. 

The performance on the stage was on the 
order of our present-day vaudeville, with a 
few extras to suit the occasion. An encore 
was the signal for boisterous applause and 
the throwing of coins at the artist. Many 
a coin went which might otherwise have gone 
to buy a loaf of bread for a hungry child, or 
helped to pay for a gown for a deserving 
wife. 

We had been there but a short time when 
my friend said: "Please excuse me for a mo- 



Wandering Around 33 

ment; I hear a familiar voice in the next 
box." 

In a few moments he returned. "We're 
invited in next door," he! said, with an amused 
smile. 

We went in. There were two occupants 
of the box : my landlord and a painted beauty 
seated on his lap. Soon a tray with drinks 
on was passed through the slide. A small 
red ticket was on the tray, and the painted 
beauty quickly reached out her hand and 
took the bit of cardboard and put it in her 
stocking. It represented her commission. 

We stayed but a short time in this place 
and then wxnt out into the fresh air. We 
turned into a street running east and west. 
It seemed like a street leading into hell, and 
parts of it would cause one to close one's 
eyes. Many men and boys were idly passing 
along the sidewalk. Young men, splendidly 
receptive, and beautifully unthinking boys, 
were there just wandering about. Chinamen, 
with wash-basket on the shoulder hurried 
down the walk, while the silent Indian with 
gay-colored blanket wrapped closely around 
his body passed quietly along, looking upon a 
scene in which his people took no part. 



34 Sketches of Butte 

We walked slowly along this thoroughfare 
of the underworld, stopping here and there 
to make observations. Loud music from the 
dance halls filled the air. Now and then 
click-click-click was heard: the rattle of the 
red, white and blue ivory chips of a poker 
game; innocent looking things, but tragic, 
for many represented the day's wage of a 
toiler who was too weak to withstand the 
temptation of the bright lights. 

From beginning to end the street was 
emerged in emotion: here careless joy, there 
sad. On either side were one-story shacks, 
a door and one window in front, the name 
of the oecupant of the "crib" either in gaudy 
letters over the door or white showing through 
ruby-colored glass in window or transom. 

Blondetta stood in her doorway. Many 
peroxide puffs adorned her head; her cheap, 
showy dress was cut low at the neck; no 
sleeves to cover her large, flabby arms; the 
skirt came down to the knees. 

Her neighbor, puffing a cigarette, leaned 
lazily out of her window; her painted face 
showed the lines of a hard life. The strollers 
usually passed her by and stopped for a 'chat 
with French Erma. They nevertheless re- 



Wandering Around 35 

ceived the stereotyped greeting: "Hello, 
boys!" Then the eyes of the "dope fiend" 
would almost close and at times it seemed 
as if she were about to fall asleep. A foot- 
step would rouse her for a moment and the 
passer-by would hear the weird voice: "Hello, 
boys!" Some would stop a' moment and then 
pass on to a more attractive shack. Once 
in a while an old-timer who had known her 
in her palmy days would reach in his pocket 
and pull out a few silver pieces and hand 
them to her with the cold words: "Here, 
Carmen, go buy yourself a drink." Her 
long, bony hand would reach out for the 
coins and her painted lips form an invitation 
to the old-time friend: "Won't you come in 
and have a drink with me?" "No," was most 
always the answer, as he passed on to another 
"crib." 

I felt that the old fiend, as she stood in 
the realm of shadows and took the occasional 
carelessly-flung bit of silver, mourned over 
the ingratitude and falling away of a friend 
in whom she once deemed she could confide, 
as with ever-increasing force the barrenness 
of the empty years forced itself even upon 
her dull consciousness — just another bit of 



36 Sketches of Butte 

tribute of flesh and blood that the pitiless 
city exacted. 

Not far along the walk in another "crib" 
"Jew Jess" sat rocking near her open door. 
She was talking with "Micky, the Greek," 
who stood near. The little one-room cabin 
looked neat, and an air of an humble home 
seemed to surromid the place. A bed in one 
corner; in another a stove just large enough 
for a tea-kettle to sit on the top. A few 
pictures hung on the wall, and on a shelf 
adorned with festoons of home-made lace 
there were several photographs arranged 
artistically. While rocking and talking her 
fingers were busy with knitting needles. 

I do not believe, after all, any of those 
women were there of their own volition. 
Some tragedy sent them there. 

Some one who greeted her eye in the smile of a friend, 

In a voice intended to sway ; 
Some one who cared not for the bitter end, 

Or the part his act might play. 

Typical of Butte, these little "cribs" were 
owned by influential people and rented to 
the unfortunates for one dollar a night— rent 
paid in advance, for respectability best of 



Wandering Around 37 

all knows how great a tribute to exact from 
the unfortunates. 

Some ten years ago a moral wave passed 
over the city, and the front doors and win- 
dows of these places were boarded up. Side- 
walks were laid in the alleys. Beacon lights 
were hung here and there to guide men and 
boys to the passageways where the inmates 
solicited from the rear door. 

Boarding up the front doors and windows 
of the "crib" in the underworld and open- 
ing the back gave more latitude for crime. 
The reformers were satisfied. The city was 
not deprived of its revenue, the respectable 
of their rents, nor the policemen of their 
graft. 

In later years an ex-official told me how 
the unfortunates were held up on every turn. 
He said, "There is a state law prohibiting 
such places, but the city evaded it. Once 
a month warrants were issued for the arrest 
of these women. The warrants were served," 
he continued; "some of them would go up 
to headquarter!^ and pay a fine of ten dollars. 
Three receipts were issued; one for the Chief, 
one for the city and one for the woman. 
Some did not go up, and in that case an 



88 Sketches of Butte 

officer would call on her and collect the ten 
dollars and give her a receipt that had been 
made out at headquarters." 

He said the policeman on the beat also 
had his graft. "They walked along," he 
said, "and if nobody was looking he would 
stick his head in the window or door and tell 
the inmate to lay a few dollars out of sight 
on the window sill where he could get it when 
he came back and she knew what would 
happen if she did not comply." 

On our way back to my hotel we stopped 
at the Casino just as "Fat Jack" drove up 
with a "slumming party." They were from 
Butte's exclusive set, and occupied a box 
directly opposite the one in which we sat. 
They seemed to think it was more romantic 
or sporty to have Jack drive upon such occa- 
sions. The place was an "underworld" dance 
hall with cheap vaudeville. After each act 
the patrons of the place would adjourn to the 
dance hall. Here, at one end, was a long 
bar where men and women after each dance 
lined up for drinks. I watched the members 
of this "slumming party" as the night wore 
on and they became riper and riper after 
each dance, until at last all classes and 



Wandeiing Around 39 

conditions joined hands in "high- jinks" of 
the hveliest character. The seductive drink 
softened the veneer, and it fell away, leaving 
them in their natural state, and the world 
outside was forgotten. 

Finally the restricted district was done 
away with. At the present time another 
reform movement is on and some reformers 
suggest that the section be re-established as 
a protection to the home and the young 
people growing up, for now it is a case of 
"Who's your neighbor?" 



Chapter Five 
"DOPE" COLONY 

I was standing on the edge of the sidewalk 
one night opposite a hotel where from the 
balcony Roosevelt was addressing the people 
who thronged the street. A young man 
joined me and presented a card. He was a 
writer for a New York publication. What 
he handed me was a card of introduction 
from Colonel Roosevelt. He had come as 
far as Butte with the Colonel's party and 
was going to stop in the city for a few days 
to gather data for his publication. It was 
a pleasure to meet him, for in this part of 
the world where one gets so few thoughts 
that are not commercial, it is refreshing to 
come across a genius, and I cordially wel- 
comed him. 

He remarked that he had read my story 
of the "Snowbird," and wished first to see 
that section of the city. The following night, 
therefore, not long after dinner we started 

40 



Dope Colony 41 

out. I first took him to a drug-store where 
tlie proprietor told me his revenue from the 
sale of morphine alone was between five and 
six hundred dollars a month. 

When we reached the place it was about 
the time the "hop-heads," as they are called, 
begin to come for the narcotic. We sat 
where w^e could see them as they came in 
and walked to the rear of the store where 
a clerk waited on them. Packages for the 
regular customers were already done up. 
They received their "dope," paid the clerk, 
and silently walked out. "Callahan the 
Bum" was the first to come, and then a 
"fiend" arrived, who always had four dogs 
following him. As he came in, the proprietor 
said to us: "That fellow buys quite a lot; 
a prominent citizen gives him the money, he 
gets the 'dope,' and they divide." 

We left the place shortly and went to a 
fruit store where I bought a basket of fruit, 
then with my companion walked to Arizona 
street, where we turned and went south until 
we came to a little shack that stood at the 
comer of a street leading into the section 
we were headed for. An old woman addicted 
to the drug habit lived in here. The yard 



42 Sketches of Butte 

was filled with rubbish consisting of empty 
cans and bits of iron gathered by her from 
around town to sell to those in charge of 
precipitating plants. 

"Butte certainly is a place of strong con- 
trasts," said the stranger. "I notice mine 
shafts in back and front yards, and one stands 
on a comer opposite my hotel." 

"Yes," I replied, "and children play on 
decomposed granite where cows lie chewing 
their cud. We have the extremes — the best 
and the worst in the world." 

"Tell me," he said, as he turned and 
pointed to a tall, thin man who wore a silk 
hat and a light brown uniform with brass 
buttons, "who is that odd-looking fellow? I 
know he is a hack driver, for he drove the 
hack the President rode in, and how fright- 
fully thin he is." "Yes," I smiled, "that is, 
of course, the reason he has been given the 
nickname *Fat Jack.' That fellow is known 
all over the country from the Atlantic to the 
Pacific; and has been the subject for many 
a 'write-up.' " 

We now turned into a narrow winding 
street, almost an alley. No sidewalks were 
laid through this section of the city. My 



Dope Colony 48 

friend asked if these cabins were built by 
the people now occupying them. I told him 
they were built by miners of early days — 
days of the placer diggings. 

"A little later," I said, "after we have in- 
vestigated somd of them and discussed certain 
of the inmates we will go over to the original 
diggings where prospectors looked only for 
gold. In these tumbled-down shacks the very 
air we breathe whispers of tragedy." 

Society would seem to recognize no duties 
towards the dwellers in the cabins, but so- 
ciety in Butte is little different from any- 
where else. The many follow the leader. 
They are not sure of themselves. Should 
some one of prominence start to do some- 
thing for the poor wretches here, it would 
at once become a fad and the section would 
be overrun by hypocrites. 

We now neared the cabin of a one-time 
society leader of another city. "First," I 
said, taking him by the arm, "I will take 
you to a cabin just around the corner where 
I want to leave this fruit. I know the life- 
story of the poor woman who occupies the 
hovel. To most people she is merely a 
woman of mystery. One day she told me 



44 Sketches of Butte 

of the tragedy that had entered her life. It 
was at a time when she lay desperately sick 
with no one to care for her. At that time 
she thought death was near. The poor little 
withered-up body is all you will see of a 
once beautiful woman. She may have several 
friends with her, victims, of course, of the 
narcotic, for they hover together and tell 
marvelous and weird tales, not unlike those 
of the absinthe *fiend,' but not as cowardly. 
The latter is possessed with pitiful fear and 
one can drive him with a wave of the hand. 
I studied those poor wretches at Montmartre 
while gathering material for a write-up." 

"I should like to hear these people talk," 
he said, as we neared the door. In replying 
I reminded him that in cases of the drug 
habit the brain becomes so thoroughly 
poisoned and abnormal that the victims 
imagine most wonderful things. They lose 
all moral sense. If they have a friend who is 
not addicted to the habit they are not happy 
until they make a "fiend" of that friend. 
To take the drug from them makes them 
criminals of the most desperate type, since 
they will do anything to get the narcotic. 
Some of these unfortunates take as high as 



Dope Colony 45 

fifty grains of morphine a day. One grain 
would be dangerous for a normal person, 
One-half a grain is a strenuous dose. 

"Tell me of the life of this one here," he 
said. 

"After we have been inside I will tell you 
the story of her life. I do not wish to do it 
now, for I want to see if you can give a 
correct guess as to her former life, and 
whether or not she is of high or low birth. 
Do not be surprised at her friendliness 
towards me. She is grateful for some small 
services I have been able to do for her." 

I pushed open the door without stopping 
to knock. The cabin had settled and the 
door was out of plumb and could not be 
locked. There seemed at first to be no life 
in the one-room shack, but as our eyes be- 
came accustomed to the dim light of one 
candle burning low, we saw lying on the bed 
two seemingly lifeless women. On the floor 
near an old wreck of a stove lay a man with 
his head resting on a roll of rags. In his 
right hand which had fallen away from his 
body was clutched an opium pipe. 

"We will not rouse them," I said. "If 
awakened now^ they would be sluggish and 



46 Sketches of Butte 

repulsive. They have had their early night's 
'shot' and will be dead to the world for 
hours." 

"This little woman lying here," I said, as 
we moved closer to the bed, "is the one I told 
you about. Take particular notice of her 
companion and I will tell you of them both 
when we go out." 

He did not speak as he stepped nearer 
the dilapidated bed where lay the two stupe- 
fied figures. The picture of wretchedness 
was too much for him and he quickly turned 
away. 

"Come, let us get out of here," he whis- 
pered, as he hurried to the door and out into 
the fresh air of the narrow street. 

We sat for some time on an upturned box 
near the side of the cabin, while I told him 
something of the history of the unfortunates 
we had seen. 

Of the two women my little friend had 
been the stronger character. I say "my little 
friend," for I have always felt a deep and 
real sympathy for her in her great sorrow; 
she tried hard at first to make good. She 
told me the drug held her in its grasp like 
the coils of a snake, and when the craving 



Dope Colony 47 

was on she was as helpless as a babe. One 
day when I went to see her, her sad little 
face looked up to mine as she said: "I cannot 
give it up. The prick of the needle is the 
pleasantest sensation of my life. Go away 
and do not try and influence me. It is all 
the comfort I have in the world." 

Both were society women. Reverses came 
to them about the same time, and it was not 
long before invitations became few and far 
between, and soon they were only "memo- 
ries." The little woman bore up like a 
soldier for a long, long time. The husband 
gave way first to drink — then drugs, and 
unknown to her administered morphine to 
her in medicine. She made the discovery 
when it was too late. 

My companion inquired how the drug was 
taken. 

"Usually whiskey and morphine first," I 
answered, "and when the exchequer gets low 
they resort to cheaper di^ugs, such as cocaine 
and opium. ^ Cocaine 'fiends' are called 
'snow-birds,' for they put some of the white 
powder on the back of the hand and then 
sniff it into the nose. Morphine is sometimes 
prepared in a substance that resembles a mint 



48 Sketches of Butte 

wafer and 'fiends' are often seen chewing 
them while standing around the street. Men 
are perhaps more prone to 'hit' the opium 
pipe, but I have seen in the Mott Street sec- 
tion of New York City men and women — 
white, brown and yellow — lounging together 
in one room, all enjoying the sensation of 
the pipe." 

"That other woman," I continued, "was 
handsome, restless and susceptible to the 
suave words of man. After her husband's 
death a coward broke her life and made her 
what she is. She was ambitious and believed 
the promises he made to her. 

"This fellow knew she was not strong 
enough mentally to battle with financial re- 
verses. He wound his coils around her, and 
she soon became his mistress and from day 
to day sank lower. He tired of her and 
deserted her; she then quickly drifted down." 

In another cabin visited that evening on 
our walk we saw an unusual character. I 
knew her years ago in a western city ; she was 
then a leader in social and other affairs, and 
at the opening of an opera house she was one 
of a theater party I attended. The party was 
given by an editor-in-chief of a leading news- 



Dope Colony 49 

paper. Years after I came down to the 
cabin we have just left. The httle woman 
we have seen was desperately sick with pneu- 
monia and I had come to see what I could do 
for her. Another woman, seemingly a stranger 
to me, was there — blear-eyed and dopey. 
There seemed to be something familiar 
about her — a something I had seen before. 
As she sat in the little cabin I studied her 
interesting face. Even in that condition her 
conversation was colored with aphorism. I 
think what first interested me most and 
caused me to study her more closely was the 
relic of a one-time beautiful gown she was 
wearing and the artistic arrangement of her 
hair. Bit by bit recognition came to me and 
I was staggered. 

I did not let her know I recognized her 
until later when I went to her cabin to try 
and find out what had brought her to that 
end. At first she strenuously denied her 
identity, but when she found it was of no 
use, the scene was most pitiful. In her day 
she had been beautiful, talented, and with a 
charm of manner possessed by few. Flat- 
tery ruined her, and the home was neglected. 
What a home she could have made for a 



50 Sketches of Butte 

group of little tots: a life of love, happiness, 
ease and content. Flattery blinded her and 
led her on a chase for the thing she thought 
would bring happiness. In a manner she 
attained the thing she looked for, but like 
the fabled apple of Hesperides, it turned to 
ashes on her lips. It ruined the home and 
she drifted to the shadows, and now she is 
what we find her today: a helpless "dope 
fiend," and the people in the other part of 
town close their eyes to this section. 

The tendency in fact is to kick these un- 
fortunates a little lower. I have been criti- 
cized severely by some eminently respectable 
people for coming here and helping them in 
small ways. The day I went to see this 
woman she implored me to write to her hus- 
band and ask him to come to her and close 
all the gates of grief. I did as she requested, 
and in about one week's time a reply to my 
letter came. It told of his death. As I read 
the letter to her I watched her expression 
change and my mind traveled back to Rock 
Creek cemetery near Washington, D. C, 
where an unknown grave is marked by a 
statue by Saint Gaudens, called "Grief." 

It is the figure of a beautiful woman with 



Dope Colony 51 

a face that haunts one. With her chin rest- 
ing on her hand, she gazes into space with 
the longing, appeahng look of one who has 
suffered much. The expression of the face 
but reveals more vividly the look of the eyes, 
and there she sits day and night, year in and 
year out, looking for the thing she lost, wait- 
ing its return. It passed her once: she did 
not realize it was going away. It has called 
her the last time. 

"Come, let us go in for a few moments," 
suggested the writer. 

We stayed and talked for some time with 
the unfortunate woman. When we came out 
he said, as he slowly shook his head: "That 
scene presents as complete a tragedy as has 
ever been written by any of the playwrights 
of modern times." 

"Yes," I said, "the play is nearly ended 
and the actress will soon be going out into 
the night. The poor woman has drifted 
beyond help, broken in health, with heart 
scars that will never heal. In the still, small 
hours when she is alone and without 'dope' 
they ache and ache, and years cannot heal the 
pain which is her constant companion. Soon 
she will sleep beneath a shroud of tansy weed 



52 Sketches of Butte 

and the board at the head of her grave will 
be marked 'Unknown.' " 

As we walked on I suggested we had 
better leave the diggings for a daylight trip 
and go to Chinatown instead, as it was on 
our way back to the hotel. "I want you to 
go to the Mission where I often go and play 
for them to sing," I said. 

The Mission was open when we reached it 
and a number of Chinamen were idly sitting 
about. They were glad to see us, for it 
meant a song for them. One said to me 
as we went in: "Mister George, he velly 
kind; he come and play for us to sling." 

They gathered around the old squeaky 
organ and sang for about an hour, their 
preference being for gospel hymns. While 
the others were singing, one, unobserved by 
either myself or my friend, went quietly out 
and returned with a present for the writer, 
an act of courtesy characteristic of the 
Chinese. 

*'I should think you would be unhappy 
in this environment." 

"No," I answered, "I am glad to be here 
and in my small way help some wandering 
soul. It is not necessary to rush to the big 



Dope Colony 53 

cities to find work to do. Here in this far 
western city one can, if he will, make some 
wretched soul feel that there are days of 
spring, and the dewdrops still sparkle in the 
hearts of flowers." 

"I think you are right," he said. "How 
splendid it is to feel we give to the world a 
pleasant thought, rather than take away." 

We had reached the hotel and stopped as 
we heard the screeching sound of wheels. It 
was an ore train on its way through the main 
streets of the city to a smelter in the valley, 
turning the corner where the hotel stood. 



Chapter Six 

CEMETERIES OF BUTTE 

Some say a cemetery reflects the spirit 
of the people of the community. Let us 
hope that sometimes mistakes are made, for 
Butte cemeteries are desolate and have often 
been the subject for eastern writers. Graves 
cannot be dug on the hills, for they are mostly 
of solid rock. A section in the valley was 
chosen for the resting-place of the dead. 
It seems as if it had been the bed of a lake 
that had existed long before the white man 
came, for the wash of decomposed granite 
from the hills is like coarse sand and in it 
graves are easily dug. It is impregnated with 
mineral and unsuccessful attempts have been 
made by unfeeling placer prospectors to 
make locations in the desolate spot. Here 
are grouped the resting-places of the Chinese, 
Catholic, Jew and Protestants — I should 
make an exception for the Chinese, for at 
stated times the bodies that have been buried 
for a certain length of time are taken up 

54 



Cemeteries of Butte 55 

and boiled so as to remove all flesh remaining 
on the bones, and when that is done the bones 
are packed in small boxes and shipped to 
China for final burial. Surrounding this 
cheerless spot is a brick-yard, two slaughter 
houses, the city dump, and a place where in 
early days ore was roasted in the open, and 
the fumes settled over the graves. Tansy 
weed was about all that would grow in the 
lonely spot. Weather-beaten crosses and 
board-markers were much in evidence, and 
many a tansy knoll told of a broken heart. 
Here and there this peculiar green shrouded 
a suicide's gi^ave or that of an unknown. 
In early days disappointments that led to 
dissipation caused many to take their own 
lives, and many unknown by name who 
had drifted West sank under the weight 
of sorrows, and now sleep in this spot. As 
a rule frontier cemeteries are desolate, but 
I know of none more forsaken than the 
old cemeteries of Butte. I have seen in 
Alaska barren spots, but they did not seem 
to whisper of as great tragedy. In the 
Catholic cemetery, near a ravine where in 
the Spring water flows swiftly and washes 
much away, is a sad-looking section, for it 



56 Sketches of Butte 

is filled with tiny graves — graves of little 
tots who were blessed by early passing away. 
Two new cemeteries are on Butte's Appian 
Way that winds across the "Flat." It is like 
the way leading into Rome, for the two 
cemeteries are on one side of the way as the 
catacombs of the Italian city. We might 
draw on our imagination and see "Barney's" 
road-house as Saint Sebastian, and one a lit- 
tle farther beyond as the tomb of Saint 
Cecilia. Not long ago I walked through one 
of these cemeteries and did not see but two 
or three tombstones with American names 
engraved upon them, and the graves are rows 
of verdureless mounds. 



Chapter Seven 
MANY JOYS 

Eutte is barren but not shorn of all joys, 
and there are many beautiful spots surround- 
ing this unique city. Columbia Gardens is 
one of these — restful and quiet, a wonder- 
land of nature. The air is filled with soft 
music of whispering pines and the song of 
rippling water as it dances under rustic 
bridges and past verdure-lined paths and 
beds of bloom on its way to the valley below. 
It is not a canyon nor a hiatus, but more 
a miniature valley and benchland, where the 
perfume of wild flowers is everywhere and 
song birds carol amid the branches of Cana- 
dian Poplars and Balm of Gilead. In this 
spot grow the most beautiful pansies the 
world has ever known. Surrounded by a 
great profusion of flowers there is a minia- 
ture lake and a handsome dance pavilion. 

The electric cars leave the noisy city and 
pass through a cut in a taihng dump, pre- 

57 



58 Sketches of Butte 

cipitating tanks where copper-impregnated 
water from the mines flows over bits of iron 
and tin cans that fill tanks, precipitating the 
copper that is in the water, and then past a 
smelter and on up a grade to the city's play- 
ground, that nestles close to the mountains 
of the Continental Divide. 

In this pretty park as we pass through 
arbored and bloom-lined walks, we come to 
a spot where the canyon air is cool and re- 
freshing, and where the artistic fern lifts 
its head, where winds breathe low and waters 
softly ripple with a lullaby sound. 

It is in this spot where grows the stately fern 
I go with my love so pure and fair, 

As seeking rest from the barren city we turn 
To this quiet place in the canyon's care. 

From a rustic bench in this sheltered spot 
we can see the moon rise three times. The 
mountain peaks behind the park give this 
effect. The moon comes up and passes be- 
hind a peak, then out for a few moments, 
then behind another, and out again and starts 
on its journey through the heavens. 



Many Joys 59 

And at our feet is a placid pool 

Cool as the canyon's breath, 
Its waters sparkle like a wonderful jewel 

In the rays of the bright moondrift. 

The quiet spot is a place for trysting 
And where lovers give their plight, 

For the God of love is in the perfumed air. 
In the shadows, and bright moonlight. 

Lake Avoca is another pretty resort. A 
few years ago, a party of Finlanders were 
holding a picnic at the lake. One made a 
wager that he could dive and stay under the 
water longer than the other. The challenge 
was accepted. It was agreed upon that the 
parties to the contest were to row out to the 
middle of the lake and at a given signal 
dive from their boats. The signal was given 
and they went over the side. In a short time 
one came to the surface. Some moments 
passed but the other did not come up. When 
the rescuing crew brought the body to the 
surface it was found he had weights tied to 
his feet. 

Funerals are a great source of joy to 
many. A young fellow hires a horse and 



60 Sketches of Butte 

buggy and with his girl follows the hearse 
until it turns into the cemetery, and then, 
as he comes to the gate, he whips up the 
horse and it hurries on over the "Flat" to 
the road-houses, where the rest of the day is 
spent in revelr}^ Hardly a night passes but 
what "Fat Jack" carries a party of "joy 
riders" to the "Flat." 

It is over this "Flat" that one of Butte's 
old-timers used to go hunting the Jack- 
rabbit. He had a one-horse vehicle and 
would put his small children in the bed of 
the wagon and start out for a day's sport. 
The horse would sight a rabbit dodging in 
and out of the sage-brush, and without warn- 
ing to the driver, start pell-mell cross- 
country in pursuit of the game. Often a 
youngster would be jostled out and the horse 
travel on at break-neck speed for half a mile 
or so, before the father would discover the 
loss. He would turn and go back for the 
child, and then renew the chase. Those were 
days of real sport, — happy days when the 
pumpkin pie was made with a brown paper 
crust. 

It is a joy and great lark to the stranger 
to take a meal in the smallest restaurant in 



Many Joys 61 

the world. It is a place between two build- 
ings, and has seating capacit}^ for six. 

A young man who had been a "mucker" 
in one of the Company mines married and 
went to New York on his honeymoon, and 
while in that city he called on one of the high 
officials of the company. The official's family 
was away and he thought it would be a lark 
to take the young couple to his country home 
to stay over night. Men of large affairs 
often do such things when their wives are 
away from home. It is a change of trend 
of thought, and a provincial chap interests 
them. The official told me the story one day 
as we sat on the upper deck of the old 
steamship Baltic. We were headed for 
England and the sea was rough. He 
said with much mirth, "I took them aboard 
my yacht and we steamed down the sound to 
Fairhaven. That night they were shown to 
one of the guest chambers where were twin 
beds. I was going through the upper hall 
the morning after and met the housekeeper 
coming out of the apartment. She was 
smiling," he continued, " and motioned me 
to follow her as she passed back through the 
door: and when I went in I saw the occasion 



62 Sketches of Butte 

of mirth — only one of the beds had been 
occupied. There were not many twin beds 
in Butte in those days," he laughed, "and I 
suppose the young fellow lay awake most 
of the night wondering who was going to 
occupy the other bed." 

One of the happiest homes in Butte is one 
where the first stones of the foundation were 
laid in a matrimonial bureau of an eastern 
city. The young bride-elect was shipped 
West C. O. D. It was years ago when I 
was on the Herald. Across the street from 
the newspaper building was a matrimonial 
agency. One night the head of the concern 
came to see me and said, "I have a splendid 
story." He told how he had that day shipped 
two young women to Montana C. O. D. 

''One went to Miles City," he said, "and 
one to Butte." I asked him how that could 
be, and he told of having received these 
requests for wives after the senders had read 
his advertisements. 

He said, "After the money for the travel- 
ing expenses and the fee of fifty dollars had 
been placed in the bank at Miles City and 
one at Butte I bought their tickets and sent 
them on." 



Many Joys 63 

I remembered the names and after many 
years looked up the one that had been 
ticketed to Butte and found her a very 
happy and prosperous wife with an interest- 
ing family of children. After becoming 
pretty well acquainted with the husband he 
told me how he had married his wife and the 
happy life they had led. 

"At the time I lived far out in the coun- 
try," he said, "and did not have an oppor- 
tunity to meet young women and so resorted 
to the agency and havd always been thankful 
I did — it's safer than society," he said with 
a serious smile. 



Chapter Eight 
FOREIGN POPULATION 

Some years ago I was traveling on the 
Rhine in Germany, and one afternoon while 
sitting on the deck of my steamer enjoying 
the ever-changing scene, an Irishman came 
to where I sat and drew a chair close to 
mine, and as he took a seat beside me, he 
said in way of making conversation, "You 
are from the States?" "Yes," I answered, 
"I am from America." "What part?" he 
asked, with a ti^ly Irish accent. "I am from 
Montana," I answered. "From Butte?" he 
asked quickly. When I told him I was he 
then mentioned the name of a priest, and 
asked me if I knew him. When I told him 
I did, he said, "He is my brother, and in a 
recent letter to my wife he wrote, 'Living 
in Butte is about like being in Ireland.' " 

Authors visit Butte, write stories, and go 
away, but they do not get the true atmos- 
phere. They come to a city of upwards of 

64 



Foreign Population =,. 65 

one hundred thousand inhabitants, and do 
not find a bookstore in the place. 

One day I was walking along one of the 
business streets when a man opened the door 
of a store and called to me, "Come in, I 
want to show you something." He pointed 
to the side wall of a store where toys, office 
furniture and stationery were sold. It was 
the wall opposite a soft-drink fountain. 
"Just think! Seven shelves of books in 
Butte," he said in much merriment. The 
proprietor of the place had put in a few 
books, and was uncertain as to the advisa- 
bility of the venture. 

There is a dry-goods store with three or 
four shelves of popular novels, and a branch 
of the Post Office where a news stand is in 
connection, a place where fashion-plates, pic- 
torials, stationery and books are sold. 

While making a report on the alien situ- 
ation during the period of the war, I came 
in touch with forty-seven different nationali- 
ties, and during the sickness that followed 
I found I had overlooked five. There is the 
Finlander Hall. The Greeks, Turks, Aus- 
trians, and those of many other nationalities 
have their clubs, and in these meeting-places 



66 Sketches of Butte 

the native tongue is spoken, and they have 
literature from the Fatherland. 

The stranger visiting Butte marvels at the 
attire of many of the young women on the 
streets, and the powdered faces and rouged 
lips of school girls. In most instances these 
young women and girls are not to blame. 
The blame lies with those who ought to set a 
good example, and who do not. 

The foreigners who come to our shores by 
steerage are tagged at Ellis Island and dis- 
tributed to different parts of the country. 
Those coming to Butte do not see or know 
anything of American life. They make a 
good wage, and naturally want to adopt 
American ways. The wooden shoe is laid 
aside for the French heel, and the dress is 
often daring, and they argue this way as they 
refer to the different society women, "It 
must be all right, for they do it and they 
ought to know." Those who adhere to their 
home custom are more picturesque and inter- 
esting. In the Italian sections where the 
bright colors of the South are used, the pic- 
ture is fascinating, and helps to soften the 
harshness of the barren surroundings. 

A striking character passing down the 



Foreign Population 67 

street is a Serbian priest as he leads a 
funeral procession. At one time I witnessed 
a Serbian funeral. It was after a mine 
disaster and there were five hearses in the 
procession. The priest in full vestments 
walked in front of the first hearse as if to 
lead the way of the souls of the departed. 

The same day another funeral procession 
passed down the hill on its way to the valley, 
and in front of the hearse walked a young 
man and woman. The young woman was 
in white, and carried a wreath of flowers. 
At first glance, without seeing the hearse 
one would think it a wedding procession. 
Why the city looks so strange is the many 
different nationalities in the streets, and their 
homes suggest their native land and make 
a conglomeration of architecture. 



Chapter Nine 
EXTREMES IN SOCIETY 

Once in awhile a few of the old set — the 
set that was instrumental in giving Butte 
its world-wide reputation for lavish enter- 
tainments, beautiful and beautifully-gowned 
women and bright, dashing men — get to- 
gether and travel down the "road to yes- 
terday," but, oh! what a change they see. 
There are only a few of the old set left 
and no more sparkling society events for 
those of the old set who are left have 
stepped aside for the newcomers and are now 
merely onlookers. The whole atmosphere 
has changed from the brilliant to the mass. 
The person, no matter from what walk in 
Hfe, who makes a "strike" is in it socially 
if he or she cares to be, for money counts 
absolutely. True friendship is little known. 
It is only an acquaintance with a motive 
"what can I gain by knowing him?" 

There is so little mental companionship, 

68 



Extremes in Society 69 

and many are afraid to acknowledge friend- 
ship with a person who is not subservient to 
the powers that be. 

Social deception and character assassina- 
tion appeared at the beginning of the great 
copper war. People lined up on one side or 
the other, and the old-time goodfellowship 
vanished and they would go the limit to in- 
jure a person morally or financially who did 
not champion their cause. They were abject 
slaves to one side or the other. The great 
battle is over, but the morale of the people 
is still upset. 

In the earl}^ days three establishments sent 
their modistes to Paris twice a year to buy 
gowns and select designs, and the Butte 
women — beautiful and attractive — gowned 
in the latest creations from the French 
metropolis, drew admiration wherever they 
went. 

There were no prudes; no conventionality. 
Gambling houses were rented for a night 
for social entertainments, giving men and 
women a like opportunity to "buck the 
tiger." 

One of the most talked of social affairs 
of those days was the opening of the "Irish 



70 Sketches of Butte 

World," the most exclusive resort in the 
restricted district. Engraved invitations were 
sent to the male gender of the "four hun- 
dred," and in most cases the R. S. V. P. was 
acknowledged by their presence. "Ladies" 
from other fashionable resorts were there, 
and some stood in the receiving line. Car- 
riages lined the street and men in evening 
dress hurried in and out of the place. Often 
on a pleasant day the proprietress of this 
resort would be seen out for a drive on the 
principal streets of the city. She used to 
sit in an open landau surrounded by three 
or four of her leading "ladies." Her large 
diamond earrings blazed like the headlights 
of an engine. The beautiful women and 
bright colors of wonderful gowns, picture- 
hats and sparkling jewels made a picture that 
resembled a bouquet on wheels. 

In a brief way let me give a pen picture 
of one or two social affairs given by prom- 
inent people. Two having taken place about 
the same time, or perhaps a week or ten days 
intervening, and of such a startling differ- 
ence, perhaps it would be of more interest 
to write of them, and the impression made 
upon a stranger from one of the middle 



Extremes in Society 71 

states who had read much of Butte and held 
a slight doubt as to the truth of some of the 
stories. 

These two people I am to mention were 
numbered among Butte's best entertainers. 
In fact, others were mediocre in comparison. 

This first function I am to speak of was 
given in one of the first substantial resi- 
dences built in Butte. When fortune smiled 
upon the family, and the number of little 
ones increased, it was decided the cabin of 
frontier days was too small for their comfort 
and a new house was planned. The mother 
loved the old location, for it was where her 
happiest days were spent; so the old, much 
beloved cabin was supplanted by a com- 
modious building. The home was ideal. 
The mother, a natural student, imparted 
much to the children, and her influence for 
good was felt amongst her myriad of friends, 
and as the summers passed the sweeter she 
bloomed. She felt that a woman's soul 
should be pure like a white bird, unruffled 
and unsullied. At her home one found in- 
tellectual rest. 

This night I was the escort of the visitor 
from Chicago. As the door of the homey 



72 Sketches of Butte 

house swung open, we were ushered to a 
stair leading to rooms above where we re- 
moved our wraps. In a moment we were 
ready to go to the floor below. About half- 
way down the stairs we stopped to let our 
eyes travel over the brilliant scene and enjoy 
a breath of perfume from the fresh blossoms. 
The four matrons in the receiving line shone 
like that many stars. The jewels and rich- 
spangled gowns dazzled the stranger. We 
moved on a few steps. She took me by the 
arm as if to hold me back. 

"It is more brilliant than anything I had 
dreamed of," she softly said, as her eyes 
traveled over the fascinating scene. 

After we passed the receiving line, I spoke 
in undertone. "This is one of the few homes 
where money does not rule; where the atmos- 
phere is honest and an invitation to the home 
means friendship in the true sense of the 
word. Our hostess is sure of her position 
and will not tolerate the yellow streak, and 
you know it always shows in one way or 
another." 

"It is a beautiful reception," was all she 
said, as we moved on towards the library. 

Soft notes from the orchestra came to us. 



Extremes in Society 73 

We passed on into another room and were 
soon lost in the maze of dancers. 

"There is so much beauty in life unseen in 
colors," she said quietly, as we passed around 
the room. 

"Do you mean all this loveliness in our 
barren city?" I asked, as we left the room 
and found a cozy nook where we might see 
all and our tete-a-tete not be disturbed. 
"True — our city is barren and ugly to look 
at, but we have so much of the beautiful 
surrounding us to offset that. You should 
visit here at a time the foothills are turning 
green and the canyons bowers of wild roses. 
A time when small flowers lift their dainty 
heads from amongst blades of crisp grass 
and kiss the heavens with their perfume. 
Montana has a greater variety of wild flowers 
than any other state in the Union." 

"Tell me," she asked, "about the dance 
your friend is going to give next week." 

I smiled as I answered her. "He is a 
prince of entertainers; a man of dual nature. 
I wish this affair he is to give was to be 
one of his honest entertainments, but it is 
not to be. It is for business purposes only. 
He is in the big copper fight and out for big 



74 Sketches of Butte 

stakes, and playing the game for all there is 
in it. It is a case of 'dog eat dog.' " I said. 
"Both he and his antagonists have special 
agents everywhere. You probably are at 
this present time suspected of being here for 
some sinister motive." 

She looked much surprised at my words. 
"How is that?" she asked. 

"Butte is a city of listeners," I said, "and 
you no doubt have been reported on long 
before this. If a man or woman comes to 
the camp and goes about his or her business, 
attending to his or her affairs only, he or she 
— whichever it may be — is looked upon with 
supicion, suspected of gathering informa- 
tion to be used by one faction or another." 

"^ peculiar atmosphere to live in," she 
suggested. 

"Yes," I said, "the city reminds me of an 
island far out at sea: it has individuality 
unique and interesting. At times I tire of 
the place and long for shores where the sea- 
gull calls. Where I can look out on the 
blue waters, where all is restful and quiet. 
Where I can expand my lungs and drink 
in the pure ozone. The affair next week will 
be quite a medley. In preparing the invita- 



Extremes in Society 75 

tion list for such affairs, he calls in one or 
two of his attorneys. 'How about this fel- 
low?' he may ask — or, 'Can we gain anything 
by asking him?' and so they go over the list. 
He has two distinct sides to his character. 
When he entertains for his friends only, it 
is most delightful. Where his enemies fail, 
is in a lack of knowledge." 

"In other words," she smiled, "he out- 
generals them in both good and bad." 



Chapter Ten 

SOME INTERESTING 
CHARACTERS 

Many people do not understand the sig- 
nificance of the term "squaw-man." In most 
instances environments bring about the 
pecuhar connubial state, but it is usually the 
renegade white man who marries a squaw 
merely to have some one to take care of him 
— gather the firewood — prepare the game 
and hides as he brings them in, but in most 
cases they lie around the camp and let the 
squaw do it all. They are much like another 
type of male who infests our country, and 
that is the foreigner who comes here in quest 
of a woman with money, or one physically or 
mentally qualified to take care of him. 

Butte boasts, and has reason to be proud 
of the highest class "squaw-man" the country 
has ever known. In early days he loved and 
married a squaw. She bore his children and 
he was the devoted husband and father until 
night came to the mother and she fell asleep, 

76 



Some Interesting Characters 77 

while the curtain rang down and her soul 
started on its journey to the "happy hunting 
grounds." He educated his children. The 
daughter returned from an Eastern school 
and grieved herself to death, and the sons, 
excepting one, returned to the tepee. He 
then married a white woman, and later on 
Avas given the post of Ambassador to a 
foreign country. He was a scholar, and 
author, and recently, at a ripe old age, his 
tired body was laid to rest, and at his grave- 
side stood many of Montana's most influential 
citizens. 

How odd it would seem to a stranger to see 
Mary MacLain standing in Broadway with 
a basket of cold boiled potatoes on one arm, 
and under the other a bottle of olives, while 
watching "Callahan the Bum" try to commit 
suicide by hanging himself to an awning rope 
in front of a jewelry store, and yet this last, 
an actual occurrence, attracted no particular 
attention in Butte. 

Butte in her days has had more interesting 
characters than any city of her size in the 
world, for they come to the camp from all 
points of the compass, and from all conditions 
and walks in life. 



78 Sketches of Butte 

It was a great day in Butte when the first 
taxi cab made its appearance, and much spec- 
ulation was rife as to the advisabihty of trying 
to run them in such a hilly country. Elliott, 
an old-time hack driver, was one of the first 
to make the experiment. One day he came 
to grief, but there was a very humorous side 
to it. He was driving his taxi up the hill 
from the lower depot, and was about a half 
block from the Great Northern tracks when 
the warning bell rang and the gates were 
lowered. The taxi did not slacken its speed, 
and onlookers heard the driver's voice as 
the machine smashed through both gates, 
"Whoa—! Whoa— damn you! Whoa—!" 
The car ran into a telegraph pole a few 
feet beyond, and when Elliott was rescued 
and unhurt, he smiled apologetically as he 
said, "I forgot I was not driving the grays." 
He was still holding fast to the steering 
wheel, but both feet were through the wind- 
shield. 

In early days, Senator Clark and Judge 
Davis were the only men allowed to wear 
a boiled shirt and starched collar, this priv- 
ilege being gi-anted them because they both had 
some money when they came to the camp. 



So7ne Interesting Characters 79 

Judge Davis had two suits of clothes, one 
he bought to wear to Paris when he went to 
that city to negotiate the sale of the Lexing- 
ton Mine. Upon his return to America he 
left the suit in New York, donned the old 
clothes and again started West. After his 
death a relative applied for letters of admin- 
istration in New York, claiming the deceased 
left personal property in that state. Upon 
investigation it was found the personal prop- 
erty consisted of this suit of clothes. 

Marcus Daly came to the camp with a 
pack on his back. F. Augustus Heinze came 
in later years. He was a polished society 
gentleman, a college graduate, and a young 
man of moderate means. They all became 
multi-millionaires, and all except Senator 
Clark have passed away. The money ac- 
cumulated b}^ these four men did more to 
shape the morale of the people than anything 
else in the most wonderful state in the Union, 
— wonderful in scenic effect and possibilities, 
and well deserving the name of Treasure 
State. 

A statue of Daly was placed in the middle 
of Main Street, just north of the Federal 
building. One day I listened to two Irish- 



80 Sketches of Butte 

men as they came down the hill with their 
dinner buckets, and stopped to inspect the 
monument. The figure was in dark bronze, 
and surmounted a granite pedestal. One 
said to the other, as they gazed at the quiet 
figure that stood as if looking down over the 
city, "Och! Mike, I tink it do be a little dark 
for Daly, it lukes loike a nager, so it do." 
"Dennis," said the other in an undertone, 
"sure it is pretty dark, an' O' niver seed Daly 
carry an overcoat." As they stood talking, 
a stranger came out of the Post Office and 
asked one of them to direct him to the 
Emergency Hospital. "Sure O' will," he 
answered. "Eegorra, it be aisy, an' all yese 
got to do is to go into Crowley's saloon an' 
say something agin the Irish an' yese will 
wake up there, sure yese will." 

One afternoon I was passing through the 
lobby of the Waldorf-Astoria in New York 
when I heard a voice call "Mistah Davis." 
I looked around and saw the speaker sitting 
in what is called "Peacock Alley." It was 
"Buckets," who a few years past had been 
a race-track "tout" in Butte. "Ah-s waitin' 
foah Mistah 'Easy Johnson,' " he said, "an' 
when Ah saw you, Ah thought Ah would 



Some Interesting Characters 81 

like to speak to you, foah you was always a 
gentleman, an' always spoke pleasantly to 
'Buckets.' "I asked him how long he had 
been East. ''Ah-s been down in New Jersey 
a-lookin' after some bosses, an' thought Ah-d 
like to see New York befoah going back to 
Butte. Mistah Davis," he said with a happy 
smile, as he straightened his red and black 
striped tie, and eased the starched collar, 
"Ah-s been bustin' in society since you left 
Butte. Needn't tell you nothing about the 
game, foah you have played it strong an' 
knows all the curves. Ah was ast to a dinner 
at one of yo' friend's house. You know 
that 'swell' guy what's from here, an' is 
president of the States Savings? — Well, he 
was one of um, an' Ah understand requested 
my presence. All went well until the ice 
cream was served, an' them 'swell' guys 
commenced to eat it with forks. Ah didn't 
dare take no chanst of it drippin' through 
the prongs, so Ah quietly slipped some on 
mall knife, an' befoah Ah made mah mouth, 
it slipped off and fell in mah lapt. Guess Ah 
must ha' been eatin' something hot with the 
knife. Ah was there with the conversation 
all right, for they didn't none of them know 



82 Sketches of Butte 

nuthin' about bosses, an' let me talk. Them 
'swell' guys jest set back an' never had 
nuthin' to say, jest give me the floor an' 
let me talk, while the ladies showed their 
appreciation." 

It is interesting to watch a black and white 
shepherd dog at night as he guards two cows 
that come out of Dublin Gulch to feed on 
garbage from cans that stand in alleys, or 
on the edge of sidewalks. Each cow has her 
different cans, and the dog quietly watches 
to see that they are not molested. When 
they have made the rounds they return to 
the Gulch where they chew their cud and 
sleep on the granite slopes of the old resi- 
dential section that was at one time the ex- 
clusive home of the Irish, — the Finlanders 
are interlopers, and the section is fast losing 
caste. It is a narrow place extending into 
the richest hill in the world, and almost in 
the center of the city. The little cabins are 
built close together and close to the road. It 
is called Anaconda Road, for the famous 
Anaconda mine is on the hill just above. 
A passer-by often receives a rotten egg or 
over-ripe vegetable in the back, but is wise 
enough not to investigate. 



Some Interesting Characters 83 

At one time a hanging was to take place 
in the jail yard. There was a rooming-house 
close by and the windows of some of the 
rooms looked out upon the grounds of the 
yard. The woman conducting the house 
came to me and said, "I am going to give 
a little hanging party in the morning and 
would like to have you join us. It will 
be quiet, just a congenial few. The view 
will be better than standing in the yard." 
I told her I was sorry, but I had a wedding 
engagement in the morning. A respected 
and popular old-timer had come to me and 
said, ''I think you are a good friend of mine 
and that I can trust you. My eldest child 
is to be married tomorrow, and says the wed- 
ding would be a happier one if Papa and 
Mama would get married first, so I have 
arranged to be married early before the 
wedding guests arrive, and want you to 
be one of the witnesses. The public will 
never suspect, for they have never known 
the bride's name, and a license would mean 
nothing to them." 

In early days, before the time of the 
stage-coach and railroad, caravans would meet 
on the plains and young people fall in love, 



84 Sketches of Butte 

and many began housekeeping in a prairie- 
schooner with the honest intention of marry- 
ing when they reached a place where there 
was a minister. Some put it off from time 
to time; merely a case of honest procrastina- 
tion. 

A lifelong friend of the hero gave the 
details of the following and a writer wove 
it into a pretty romance. 

One of Butte's prominent citizens is a 
popular and lovable character who, when 
Montana was a territory, drove a "bull 
team," and in later years held one of the 
highest political offices the State has to be- 
stow upon a citizen. In his younger life he 
was a saloon-keeper for one night, and the 
story as it is told is full of pathos and jocose 
combined. The young man gave up freight- 
ing and became operator at a lonely place 
where the rattle-snake and sage-brush thrive. 
There were only two buildings in the place, 
— the one where he held forth and another 
occupied by a woman and her daughter who 
gave meals to the freighters and whoever 
chanced to be going that way. The mother 
washed clothes for the young operator and 
many cowboys who came from miles away, 



Some Interesting Characters 85 

and soon a jealous feeling filled the heart 
of the young man as he saw the "cow- 
punchers" take long walks with the daughter, 
and he often said to himself, "It is wonderful 
how many things a 'cowpuncher' can find 
that require washing." As time passed the 
young man's heart became more restless. 
"I'll fix them," he thought; "she loves music 
and I used to play the concertina. I'll send 
to Salt Lake City for one." A few weeks 
thereafter, when a train of freighters halted 
at the widow's for the middle-day meal, a 
square box was carried to the operator's 
building. He knew the meaning and was 
restless for night to come when he might 
unpack the box. "I'll walk way down the 
trail where they cannot hear me," he mused, 
"and practise some before she knows I have 
it." The evening was beautiful on the 
prairie, almost a desert sunset as the big 
ball of fire quietly sank behind the sage- 
brush. Sunset on the wild range is most 
wonderful in effect, and the crimson glow 
that follows would lead the stranger to feel 
that the heavens were afire. The green, 
purple shadows of the brush are mystic, and 
where the glow reaches, the sheen is like 



86 Sketches of Butte 

waves of fire. This evening, the sunset hour 
was fascinatingly beautiful, and the widow 
and daughter came to where he was to enjoy 
it with him. He wished to get away, and to 
him the twilight seemed, oh, so long. At 
last darkness spread over all, and his friends 
went to their home for the night. When all 
was quiet he stole out and walked quickly 
down the lonesome trail that buffalo and 
other wanderers of the plains had made dm-- 
ing their daily pilgrimage to a creek that 
lay a mile away, a place where they could 
drink and wallow in the cool waters. He 
did not know a wandering band of Crees 
were camping near the creek. The moon 
was far in the heavens when he left the trail 
and sat down in a clump of sage-brush, and 
in the quiet spot began his practise. He 
had been there about half an hour when he 
heard a weird, dirgelike chant and the soft 
beating of tomtoms. The sounds grew nearer 
and nearer, until at last four Indians stopped 
in the trail near where he sat. One came 
to him and spoke in Cree dialect. He under- 
stood, and came out of the brush and tried 
to explain, but they did not know his mean- 
ing and escorted him to their camp, where a 



Some Interesting Characters 87 

fire had been made, and in the glare he saw 
an Indian maiden standing before a tepee. 
Like a flash, the meaning dawned upon him. 
According to Indian tradition, he had pro- 
posed to the maiden, and in return had been 
accepted, and they were about to celebrate 
the betrothal. A young Indian buck falling 
in love with a maiden and wishing to make 
her his squaw, at night stands alone near 
her tepee and plays on a musical instrument. 
If his love is reciprocated, the maiden comes 
forth and silently stands in front of her 
father's tepee. If rejected, there is no sign 
of life around the place. 

They attributed the distance and hiding in 
the brush to timidity on the part of the young 
pale-face. He was lodged in a tepee with the 
Chief. In the morning, he again tried to 
explain, but preparations for the celebration 
went on. Two days had passed when four 
cowboys rode into the freighting station. 
The widow and daughter were almost beside 
themselves with grief and fear, as they told 
the story of the disappearance. The empty 
box was there, but no one knew what it had 
contained. 

The cowboys knew an Indian camp was 



88 Sketches of Butte 

not far away. They examined the ground 
around the buildings, but wind had blown 
dust over all signs of footprints. One of the 
"cowpunchers" wandered along the trail 
until he came to a sheltered spot, and there 
found footprints leading in the direction of 
the camp. He knew the prints were those 
of a white man, for they were not pigeon- 
toed as all Indian's are. 

He quickly returned to the station and soon 
four horsemen were off and riding at good 
speed in the direction in which the Indian 
camp lay. When they reached the place, the 
Indians showed a defiant spirit and it was 
difficult to appease them. The chief argued 
that it was either a proposal of marriage or 
an attempt to lure the maiden from her 
people, but after much talk, both pleasant 
and threatening, the cowboys rode out of the 
camp with the young man sitting behind one 
of the laughing boys. As they left the place 
they heard a threatening grunt, a guttural 
sound peculiar to the Indian. 

In face of all the pleasantry, the rescued 
man felt very kindly towards his deliverers, 
and they were overjoyed to see the musical 
instrument, and to know he played it, and 



Some Intei^esting Characters 89 

they made that another excuse to visit the 
freighting station. "We can take turns 
dancing with the girl," said one, as they rode 
away ; and soon his one-room building became 
a rendezvous for "freighters" and "cow- 
punchers." "I believe I'll make some money 
out of these fellows," he mused, as he 
watched about half a dozen chapare jo-be- 
decked "cowpunchers" dismount and run the 
lariat through rings they had fastened in the 
side of his building, for there were no trees 
in the neighborhood, "then marry the girl 
and leave the country. I'll send to Ogden 
and get a keg of whiskey, and peddle it to 
them at so much 'per.' " Each night since 
his rescue he had played for them to dance, 
and it robbed him of the hours he might 
otherwise have spent with the young woman. 
About a month later, while two cowboys 
stood in his doorway, two "freighters" lifted 
from a freight-wagon a large size keg and 
a small box, and one said, as he placed the 
box on top of the keg, "Guess that be a 
faucet for the cider," and with a smile winked 
at the onlookers. After the train had passed 
on, "Southern Jack" quizzed the young man 
as to the meaning of the whiskey being left 



90 Sketches of Butte 

there, and after much persistence forced an 
explanation. "It will be a good time to 
advertise," he thought, as he asked them to 
help him roll the keg in and tap it. "I'll give 
them a glass or two and then tell them my 
intentions." After he had explained to them 
and they had taken a few drinks. Jack said 
with much spirit, "We'll have a regler party 
the openin' night." "Have the wimmen bake 
up everything," said the other, "an' make the 
date as near pay-day as possible." When 
details had been arranged and the two 
"punchers" mounted their horses and started 
off, "Southern Jack" called back, "We all 
will be thar," and sure enough, during the 
afternoon of the opening day in all direc- 
tions over the range could be seen little coils 
of dust rising from trails. It was made by 
the hoofs of horses hurrying along carrying 
guests to the dance. Those who had reached 
there early had arranged a stage for the 
orchestra and bar, by placing two dry-goods 
boxes close together, and when the hour came 
for the festivities to begin, the young man 
with the concertina on his lap sat on one 
box and the keg of whiskey on the other. 
Mother and daughter both joined in the 



Some Interesting Characters 91 

dancing, and all went well for several hours. 
Between dances the guests would help them- 
selves to liquid refreshments and then drop 
a silver piece in a tin cup that stood close by. 
About three o'clock in the morning trouble 
began, and the jingling of spurs that kept 
time with the concertina became louder and 
faster and then a few shots were fired through 
the ceiling; then a jealous fight over the 
daughter, then the mother, and then more 
drinks, and some became drowsy, while others 
seemed to take pleasure in shooting through 
w^alls and ceiling. The mother and daughter 
escaped and went to their building. The 
young man, with trembling hands and feet, 
played on, but the music was fast and dis- 
connected. 

At last quiet came, and at the break-o'-day 
he silently rolled the keg to the door and 
turned on the faucet, and what was left of 
the whiskey flowed to the ground below. As 
he went back to his room his eyes rested on 
sleeping "cowpunchers" in the corners and 
all about the floor. It was his first and last 
night as a bartender. 

The first mail leaving the place carried 
his resignation, and he journeyed on to Butte, 



92 Sketches of Butte 

where he still lives and enjoys the friends of 
frontier daj^-s. 

One of Butte's mining men, a prominent 
and picturesque character around the city, 
confided in me and told me the secret of his 
good health and how he guarded against 
pneumonia. "From the time of the first 
frost in the fall," he said, "I never bathe until 
after the last frost of Spring. The oil," he 
said, "from the body forms a coating and is 
like an extra skin and helps to keep out the 
chill." While listening to him I said to my- 
self, "What a joy this story would be to the 
small boy." The first frost usually is in Sep- 
tember, and the last in June. It would give 
the small boy ten months of happiness. 

A young woman who had experienced 
many of the trials of life married one of 
Butte's wealthiest young men, and began 
housekeeping in what is thought to be the 
finest residence in the city. She was happy 
— oh, so happy, and proud of her home. 
Among the wedding presents was a splendid 
copy of a Rembrandt. Visitors would come 
to pay a call and most all gave expression 
of their admiration of the picture. "What 
a beautiful Rembrandt," some would say, or. 



Some Interesting Characters 93 

"Isn't that splendid." And the young ma- 
tron would reply in her pleasing manner, 
"Yes, it is pretty," or, "I love it." It seemed 
to get on her nerves, but she did not say 
anything about it until one day an intimate 
girl friend, whose nickname was "Mike," 
called on her, and in her effervescent manner 
exclaimed, "Oh! What a stunning Rem- 
brandt!" The young matron stepped back, 
and placing a hand on each hip, said, " 'Mike,' 
who in hell is Rembrandt?" 

A few years ago two prominent men, both 
prominent politicians, got mixed up in an 
amusing social affair that afterwards led them 
into the divorce court. They were an Irish- 
man and a Jew. Just for convenience we 
will call the Jew "Mose" and the Irishman, 
"Dan." They were both named as co-re- 
spondents and many people felt that the 
Irishman was guilty and the Jew innocent, 
but in his nervousness he convicted himself. 
It was a case of two married women of another 
city and one of the husbands was the plaintiff. 

It was Dan who introduced Mose to the 
women. He was bright, but unscrupulous, 
and planned to use the Jew; and on the 
other hand the Jew was loyal and in trying 



94 Sketches of Butte 

to protect the Irishman surrounded himself 
with circumstantial evidence which convicted 
him, and in his honesty convicted Dan. He 
was unaccustomed to court proceedings and 
did not understand, and how often that is 
the case where a witness is honest and wishes 
to explain. 

I was in court and witnessed the proceed- 
ings. They were both called by the plaintiff. 
Dan had been on the stand and the attorneys 
for the plaintiff got very little from him that 
was material. Mose was nervous and turned 
deathly pale as the attorney for the plaintiff 
said, "Will Mr. Dinklvich please take the 
stand?" 

The witness did not leave his seat, and the 
attorney spoke to him again: "Will the wit- 
ness please take the stand?" 

He looked frightened as he answered, "I 
can't do it, I can't stand up." 

A wave of amusement passed over the 
room as the Judge said, "Will the bailiff 
please assist the witness to the chair?" 

He was tired and excitable after the long 
direct examination. Up to this time he had 
been a poor witness for the plaintiff, for his 
cross-examination will show how he had been 



So7iie Interesting Characters 95 

approached by the attorney for the wife, a 
procedure undignified but not uncommon. 
The attorney for the defendant began, as 
he watched the man closely, "Mr. Dinkl- 
vich — " but he got no further. The witness 
became very much excited; he raised his 
right hand out towards the attorney and the 
left towards the Judge and began to speak 
in an almost incoherent manner. "Dan 
Kavin got me into dese troubles," he said, 
"an' I got ze voist of it." 

There was much sympathy for the fellow, 
for there had been much sparring between 
the attorneys and he was confused as well as 
very tired. 

"The witness will please answer the ques- 
tions, 'yes' or 'no,' and refrain from com- 
ment," said the attorney. 

"I know vot to say, Mr. Skviggs," he con- 
tinued; "you tole me vot to say an' I can say 
it if you do not got me rattled. I haf been 
in ze court-room efery day since ze case be- 
gan an' I haf noticed ze vitnesses got rat- 
tled—" 

"Please just answer my questions — yes or 
no," said the lawyer. 

"I know vot to say, Mr. Skviggs; but if 



96 Sketches of Butte 

ze Judge overrule an' sustain me I vill got 
rattled an' lie like Dan Kavin did." 

The court-room rang loud with sounds of 
the gavel as the onlookers became boisterous. 
Mr. Squig looked around in despair while the 
witness insisted upon talking. The Judge 
again admonished the onlookers. 

"If quiet is not maintained," he said, "I 
shall ask the bailiff to clear the court-room 
and the proceedings will be continued behind 
closed doors. I would suggest that as the 
witness is unduly nervous he be let to pro- 
ceed in his own way and tell of his doings 
at the Van Lennop home." 

"That is vot I vont to do," said the ex- 
cited man, turning to the Judge, "an' I vont 
to remember vot Mr. Skviggs tole me vot 
to say, but if I am overruled and sustained 
I vill forgot." 

As he spoke he nervously glanced to where 
the plaintiff sat, for the practical joker had 
told him Mr. Van Lennop was armed and 
would shoot at the least provocation. 

"Ven Dan Kavin and me go up to ze 
Van Lennop house," he continued, "Dan he 
say to me before ve start, 'Now, Mose, ven 
ve got up to ze house Maggie is your goil,' 



Some Interesting Characters 97 

an' ven I see her I knows I got ze voist of 
it. Ven de music vos started in ze parlor 
Maggie she say to me, 'Mr. Dinklvicli, ve 
take a valk in ze garden,' an' ven ve got dare 
she say, 'Mr. Dinklvich, ve sit here in ze 
bright moonhght.' Ven ve comes back an' 
Dan Kavin vos singing 'Silver Threads mit 
derr Golt.' An' ven he got through Mrs. 
Van Lennops she took him too mit ze garden. 
Ven ve vere alone Maggie she got ze family 
albums." 

The attorney vigorously protested, "I wish 
to excuse the witness," he said in a voice 
trembling with disgust. "This sort of busi- 
ness is all out of order." The Judge paid 
no attention to him but turned to the witness 
and quietly said, "The witness may proceed." 

"I forgot me vot I vos saying." 

"You were just starting to tell us about 
the family album," said the Judge. 

"Oh, yes; veil, Maggie she got ze family 
albums an' she opens it an' she say, 'Mr. 
Dinklvich, zis eis little Timmy, my youngist 
brudder, an' zis eis Jackie.' An' you aut haf 
seen it. An' zen she say, 'Zis is me ven I vus 
sixteen.' An' I say, 'It haf keep vel.' An' 
she shut ze album an' lav it on ze table an' 



98 Sketches of Butte 

move her chair close to me an' take me mine 
hand in hers an' look up mit mine eyes an' 
say, 'Mose/ an' I look at her an' I vanted to, 
oh, how I vanted to, but I couldn't do it. I 
shut me mine eyes an' say to me, 'Mose, be 
a good sport.' " 

There was a hush in the court-room. The 
audience leaned forward in their seats, full 
of expectancy. 

"Ven I opens me mine eyes she vo^ just ze 
same. I say, 'Maggie, rest back in ze chair,' 
an' she did, an' I put me a pillow under her 
head an' close me mine eyes an' sing so fine 
as I could a Yiddish love song, an' ven I 
finish me mine song I opens mine eyes an' 
Maggie vos sound asleep. She fall asleep 
ven she hear mine soft notes full off tears — " 

"Your honor, I again ask to excuse the 
witness," said the attorney appealingly. The 
Judge gave the attorney a look of disgust as 
he said, "The witness may continue his story." 

"Mine foder send me oud to see more of ze 
voild an' I see too much. Ve all got drunk an' 
vere up all night an' I vos hungry an' — " 

"I think," said the Judge, "we can see to 
what extent the witness was coached. I will 
excuse him." 



Some Interesting Characters 99 

"Just one moment," suggested the plain- 
tiff's attorney, "I wish to ask the witness one 
question. Mr. Dinklvich, are you telling the 
truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the 
truth?" 

"Yes," he honestly answered. 

"You know the seriousness of the oath, do 
you not?" 

"Yes ; I know vot it means an' I am honest. 
Ze greatest compliment a person can gif me 
is to say I am a vite Jew." 

"That is all," said the attorney with much 
satisfaction. It is not necessary to tell how 
the case was decided. 

I have seen attorneys go so far in arguing 
a case to the jury as to hold a twenty-dollar 
gold piece in the palm of their hand. It 
meant this and more to follow. 

In early days, during exceedingly trying 
times, a deacon of the INIountain View Meth- 
odist Church was sheriff. 

I knew a society woman who, when going 
out and anxious to get a message to her 
husband as soon as he returned home, would 
tie a note to the neck of the whiskey bottle 
before leaving the house. 

A society matron who was very fond of 



100 Sketches of Butte 

the races and who never missed an oppor- 
tunity to attend always held a rosary in her 
hand while placing a bet or talking with a 
"tout." 



Chapter Eleven 
AT THE OLD COUNTRY CLUB 

The porch of the Country Club that stood 
on the "Flat" near the four cemeteries, a 
slaughter-house and brick-yard, was bril- 
liantly lighted with Chinese lanterns. Here 
and there a "cozy nook" protected by fresh 
green pines brought from the mountains, 
gave seclusion to "timid sparks." 

A warm grate fire in a measure relieved 
the cold, cheerless effect of the dance hall. 
The unplaned rafters, high ceilings and 
weather-board sides, made the place a barren, 
unattractive looking room. In a bay window 
an orchestra was stationed. The handsome, 
but over-decorated, table placed in this wooden 
Sahara was like an oasis in a desert. Its 
wonderful pile of bloom lacked refinement 
and the artistic touch of culture. The host 
had purposely over-embellished, for he wished 
to dazzle some whom he had invited, and in 
that way study their mental strength and see 

101 



102 Sketches of Butte 

in what capacity they might be used. The 
waiters had been instructed to keep the 
glasses well filled, and had carefully followed 
instructions. 

Our host met us at the door as we entered. 
Formality had been laid aside for this night, 
as many of those bidden would not under- 
stand. The dinner guests had arrived and 
were soon seated at the table, and when 
the time came for the dance guests to arrive, 
all at the table were in a jovial spirit. 

A carriage drove up to the entrance and 
soon two men entered the hall, one a stranger 
from Boston. As the door closed behind 
them, a young doctor who had imbibed too 
freely, rose from his chair and soon a ripe 
tomato, with a little dressing on the side, 
landed on the Bostonian's right eye. He 
gracefully acknowledged the unusual salu- 
tation and passed on to a room where men 
removed their wraps. 

This seemed a signal for a "rough house." 
The dinner guests left the table and gathered 
in small groups here and there where they 
might have a liquor and cigarette and be un- 
disturbed by the noisy throng that began to 
invade the hall. 



At the Old Country Club 103 

Some retired to the outer balcony, for the 
moonht night was balmy for an autumn night 
in the mountains. 

In the room where the Bostonian went to 
leave his top coat and hat was an improvised 
bar. Three of the men who had been dinner 
guests were stationed at this place, while 
three others formed themselves into a com- 
mittee to escort every newcomer to the bar, 
and when there he was compelled to drink 
five cocktails. When an obstreperous guest 
was encountered, a member of the committee 
would state to him, "It's to even up the 
party. We have been at it for two hours. 
Come — be a sport and take your medicine 
like a man." 

They knew the consequence of a refusal. 
The scheme had the desired effect, and soon 
the hall was filled with merry dancers, and 
the music changed from the classic strains 
of the seductive waltz and two-step to a gay 
"rag-time." 

"I can feel the vibration of the building," 
my companion laughed heartily. 

"Yes; it is like a swaying mob, isn't it?" 
I answered, and then suggested we go to the 
gallery where we might sit and look on. 



104 Sketches of Butte 

We climbed the rickety steps that led to 
the balcony and took seats, near a suspiciously 
frail-looking rail. 

The butcher, the baker and the candle- 
stick maker were all there on the floor below. 
They were lined up for inspection, and in 
most cases there was not an exchange of 
mentality, or harmony of souls. There were 
some strong characters lined up, but treach- 
erous, for thej^ would not stay bought. 

"How interesting to look on," she said, 
as she moved close to the rail. 

"Such manner of entertaining is not very 
elevating," I said, "but is common here. It's 
just a little flattery for the poor 'boobs,' and 
they fall for it, and in that fall will go the 
limit." 

"It does seem strange that in this day and 
age a person has a price for his manhood," 
was her only answer as she quietly looked on. 

"And some sell mighty cheap and seem 
to like being 'crooks.' It sort of gives them 
standing to be associated with the wealthy 
criminals." 

I leaned back in my chair and watched 
her interested expression as she watched the 
throng of dancers. 




A BUCKING PINTO 



At the Old Country Club 105 

*'I have always wanted to look on at a 
cowboy dance," she said, without taking her 
eyes from the floor below. "Have you ever 
attended one?" 

*'Yes," I said; "I remember a rather lively 
one up in the Big Hole country." 

"Tell me about it. It must have been in- 
teresting." She was all attention as she 
moved back and closer to me. "Do they 
really shoot up everything?" I merely 
smiled as I launched into the story. 

"A 'tenderfoot' friend of mine who had 
been in the camp for several weeks wanted 
to go for a long horseback journey. I 
planned a trip for him up through the Big 
Hole to the old battlefield and back through 
the Wise river country. We went by train 
to Divide and there took saddle horses. I 
had wired for horses, and when we reached 
our rail destination and went to the stable 
we found two horses already saddled and 
waiting: one a handsome large sorrel, the 
other a little dark brown *cayuse.' " 

"Tell me," she interrupted, "what is the 
definition of 'cayuse'?" 

"Just a name for an Indian pony," I an- 
swered. 



106 Sketches of Butte 

"I wondered. I have heard so many Butte 
people called that." 

"That's because they are wild and un- 
broke," I smiled, as I continued the story. 
"My friend, for the first time, showed selfish- 
ness by stepping forward and starting to 
mount the fine-looking animal. I stood and 
watched him ride out of the corral, and then 
turned to where stood my little horse, blear- 
eyed and sleepy-looking, with head hanging 
down towards his knees. I knew the speci- 
men and was satisfied. The big range saddle 
almost covered his back. 

"We started out, crossed the river and 
followed the left bank. My little horse, all 
skin and bones, moved on with gait like the 
rocking of a cradle, picking his way over 
rocks and rough roads. Far in the distance 
we could see the glistening snowcaps of Goat 
Mountains, that rise above one of the Indian 
battlefields of early days. 

"We had gone but a few^ miles when I 
noticed my friend now and then slide over 
to one side of the saddle, while his fine-looking 
horse came down with a heavy thud. 

"Our first stop was at Dewey's Flats, a 
little town with one street, lined on either 



At the Old Country Club 107 

side by log cabins; a truly frontier town. 
No sidewalks; everybody walked in the mid- 
dle of the road. 

"We reached the little tavern just before 
the noon hour. In the dining-room a pretty 
half-breed girl waited on the table. Her 
straight, black hair hung in two strands 
over her shoulders in truly Indian fashion, 
for they were in front and fell about to her 
knees. She was a handsome girl to look at. 
Her soft, brown-red complexion and large, 
dreamy black eyes made a wonderful picture. 

"I paid no attention to her, merely giving 
my order. My friend at once started to 
'josh' her and that is where he lost out, for 
the Indian has much dignity. 

"There was to be a show in town that 
night, so we staj^ed over. For about a week 
or ten days word had been passed through 
the country telling of the event to come. 
Chairs and tables in a saloon and gambling 
house had been removed so as to give room 
for the performance and dance that was to 
follow. The show people carried with them 
an orchestra consisting of one violinist — and 
that was the incentive for the dance. 

"About three o'clock that afternoon I sat 



108 Sketches of Butte 

down to an old foot-pedal organ that stood 
in a corner of a little sitting-room. 

"Soon the young waitress came from the 
kitchen and, without speaking, moved a chair 
close to the end of the organ and sat quietly 
listening to me play Moody and Sankey 
hymns, for that was the extent of music they 
possessed. My friend again tried to flirt 
with her. 

" 'You're going to the dance with me 
tonight, aren't you?' he said in a flippant 
manner. 

"She did not look towards him, but with 
a guttural sound, characteristic to the Indian 
before speaking, said, 'No, I go with him,' 
pointing her hand towards me. I was game; 
stopped pumping the old machine, turned to 
her and said, 'Yes, and we'll go to the show 
first, won't we?' 

"Not a smile passed her lips as she an- 
swered, 'Yes, we go to the show.' 

"I took her to the show and we all stayed 
for the dance. Chaparejo bedecked 'cow- 
punchers,' with high-heel boots and rattling 
spurs, were there. Prospectors and ranchers 
with their wives and sweethearts came from 
miles around to attend the affair. My girl 



At the Old Country Club 109 

danced with all the rhythm of the Indian, 
spoiling it now and then by a long drawn 
out pivot, merely to show the pale face she 
understood their ways. 

"All wxnt well until about midnight and 
then trouble seemed to be in the air, for her 
sweetheart — a 'cowpuncher' from up near 
Wisdom — arrived upon the scene and at once 
became mean. As whiskey became more 
plentiful, threats of bodily injury were often 
made to me as he took more drinks. 

"I knew enough not to try and explain 
matters, for in that state there was no rea- 
soning. 

"As the jealous lover became well intoxi- 
cated, he leaned against the bar, one foot 
resting on the brass railing, and in a loud 
voice began to upbraid the girl, emphasizing 
his remarks now and then by a shot through 
the ceiling or floor. He ground his teeth 
as he became more unsteady and wild-eyed 
with anger. 

"Seemingly paying no attention to him, I 
invited all to have a drink. There was a rush 
to the bar. The excited lover turned and 
faced a whiskey bottle, and while he was 
pouring out a generous drink I quietly passed 



110 Sketches of Butte 

around to where he stood and in a rather 
flippant manner said, 'Pard, why don't you 
sometime come over to Butte and make us 
a visit? It had the desired effect, for he 
poured another drink. 

"There is always a chance of a bad shoot- 
ing when a fellow drinks too much." 

"Tell me about the rest of the trip," she 
said, in much interest. "It is all new to me." 

"There was nothing of particular interest 
until the day and night before we returned 
to Dewey on our way back to Butte. I wanted 
to show my friend the Vipond country. We 
turned up the road leading along Wise 
river. At dusk we left the road to follow 
a trail that led through a stretch of timber. 
Night had just closed in when we reached 
a spot where there had been a forest fire; 
burned trees had fallen and obliterated the 
trail, and soon I realized we were lost. The 
moon came up and we kept on going, now 
and then the horses stepping over a fallen 
tree. In the moonlight each stump looked 
like an Indian or bear, but we drove ahead, 
now and then reining in when one of the 
horses would snort as if scenting danger. 

"Just after the break-o'-day we ran across 



At the Old Country Club 111 

a dreadfully unkempt-looking man lying fast 
asleep beside a large log. When we roused 
him I recognized the man known throughout 
that section as the 'Wild Man/ Wherever 
night overtook him he lay down to sleep. 
Prospectors and hunters would give him 
ammunition, and when he shot a deer or elk, 
he would camp there until he had devoured 
it all. A place he called home was in the 
woods near a small cave. A few poles lean- 
ing up against a tree constituted his summer 
home, and the cave was where he spent much 
time in the winter. His long, unkempt hair 
was in thirteen strands, braided as it grew 
longer, and most everything under the sun 
braided in it, giving him a mighty wild 
appearance. 

"He directed us to the trail leading to 
Vipond Park. We fomid we had been 
wandering around during the long night in 
a radius of about a mile. 

"At one place on the trail we looked 
through a hiatus in the mountains and in the 
distance of about seventy miles saw Butte 
on the barren mountain side. The atmos- 
phere was so clear we could almost distin- 
guish the different mines. 



112 Sketches of Butte 

"It was a pretty ride from Vipond back to 
Dewey's. As we turned in on the one road 
leading through town, we passed a wagon 
just leaving. On the high seat of the dead-ax 
wagon I recognized my little half-breed and 
her sweetheart. As we passed they both 
looked straight ahead, with no sign of recog- 
nition. When we reached the little hotel the 
landlady told us the fellow refused to leave 
until the girl married him." 

"Watch them now," the listener inter- 
rupted. 

The music had stopped. Some of the 
dancers flocked to the punch-bowl; others to 
the small room where stronger drinks were 
served. Women, with glass of wine or high- 
ball in one hand and cigarette in the other, 
walked with their partners to the outer gal- 
lery. Some found seats in cozy nooks; others 
stood blowing loud applause through the hall. 

My companion was much interested as I 
pointed out the professional reformers, lime- 
light seekers and those of other professions. 

"This all sounds and looks more like the 
Butte I have read about." 

"We have some wonderfully fine lonesome 
people in Butte," I suggested. "Lonesome 



At the Old Country Club 113 

because they will not mingle. They have not 
had an opportunity to meet the right ones. 
They are invited to an affair like this. They 
look on and then decide to retire to a quiet 
life during their sojourn in the camp." 

"You do not paint your aristocracy in very 
glowing colors," she said, with a twinkle in 
the eye. 

"It is a queer conception of life most of 
them have. There are three periods of aris- 
tocracy," I answered, not taking my eyes 
from the floor below. "They are birth, 
wealth and worth. We have long since 
passed through the first, and are now on our 
way through the second, and I am glad to 
say, almost at the end. How splendid it will 
be when we enter the third, — the aristocracy 
of worth. When people will be received for 
what they are and what they have done. The 
leaven is working fast and a new spirit is 
rising." 

Dawn's silver light was putting the stars 
to flight as we left the barren club house. 
Some were still dancing, others lounging in 
"cozy nooks," some taking carriages for road- 
houses that dot the "Flat," where they might 
have more dancing, more drinks and a break- 



114 Sketches of Butte 

fast before returning home, while many, hke 
ourselves, drove out of thei grounds and along 
a road that led up the mountain side to the 
city. 

"Jack seems to be in a hurry," said the 
young lady as the lash fell on one of the 
horses. 

"Yes," I laughed, "but he will be too late 
for a game of poker. He is a great gambler 
and often stakes his all. One night he sat 
in a game and luck was against him until 
the last round of * Jack-pots.' He was 
'strapped' when he filled his hand. His 
watch and finger-ring were in the pot. He 
had drawn a good hand but had nothing left 
to bet. At last he said as the took out his 
false-teeth, 'How much be these worth?' It 
was at a time when dentistry was crude and 
gold plates were made heavy. The plate 
was appraised and placed in the pot and he 
win." 

"Why do you say 'win'?" she asked. 

"It's just a sporting term," I answered. 
"Won might cause much confusion in enum- 
erating at a horse race and such as that." 



Chapter Twelve 
CORRUPTING FELLOW MEN 

The world over when one mentions Butte, 
people ask why Butte has such an unenvi- 
able reputation. Fear and hypocrisy are the 
prime reasons. The gardens of life are un- 
kept by those who ought to be guardians and 
the weeds of corruption smother and warp 
young life. A scientist at one time said he 
believed the peculiar mental condition of so 
many in Butte was due in a way to the 
barrenness of the place and radioactive min- 
erals. He said a person living in direct con- 
tact of rays from the mineral would soon 
feel the effect. The brain becomes metallic 
and they are not wholly responsible. 

The voyage of life to many in Butte is 
timiultuous. In an old gallery in a foreign 
land there hangs a set of pictures that depict 
the voyage of life. The first canvas shows 
the background, laid in, in the impressionist. 
Some might imagine it to be a cliff; others 

115 



116 Sketches of Butte 

the mouth of a large cave. Floating on the 
waters of a placid stream that comes from 
this darkness is a bark filled with beautiful 
flowers. Lying in the center of the mass 
of bloom is a young babe. On the prow, 
with celestial light about her, stands an angel 
with trumpet in one hand, heralding to the 
world the birth of the child ; in the other hand 
she holds an hour-glass, the upper globe filled 
with sands of time. 

The second canvas shows everything bright 
and cheerful. The waters of the stream 
glisten in the sunshine. On the banks of 
the stream of mirror-clear waters are many 
young trees, palms and brilliant blossoms. In 
the bright sky above, resting on silvery 
clouds, is a wonderful castle. In the prow 
of the barge stands a youth, his eyes turned 
towards the castle as if riveted there. The 
angel has left the bark and stands on the 
shore waving a Godspeed to the boy who is 
just going out into the world. The hour- 
glass rests on the prow of the boat. 

The third canvas shows a man standing in 
the center of the boat. There are many rocks 
in the stream and the troubled waters are 
filled with corruption; broken branches lie 



Corrupting Fellow Men 117 

here and there among withered pahns. The 
barge rocks and pkinges as it moves on 
towards the distant rapids, and there he stands 
gazing on the half-empty hour-glass. 

The fourth canvas shows an old man stand- 
ing in the bark with his arms reaching out 
as if to receive some one. All about is dark- 
ness; the celestial light shines on his up- 
tin*ned brow. In the heavens the clouds are 
billowy and bright. Many angels float 
through space beckoning the old man home. 
The upper globe of the hour-glass is empty. 
He had finished this life and was steering 
his boat ashore. He had passed through 
corruption and gone over the rapids, and 
again his eyes turn to the celestial light. 

Managers of Butte combines feel safe 
behind the subservient press. They use much 
gold in the miscarriage of justice and cor- 
rupting their fellow man. Pressure is 
brought to bear on weak people and they 
fall, and in that fall seem to lose all sense 
of honor. They go the limit. Some place 
one foot in state prison, while others stand 
with the noose dangling just above their 
heads. The real criminal sits in his office, 
club or home while his agents deal out the 



118 Sketches of Butte 

corrupting stuff, and hire character assassins 
to ruin the standing of people who oppose 
him. 

Some sell themselves to high bidders merely 
to be used as dimimies, or like the decoy duck. 
For the price they have sold their soul, they 
stand ready to be set up and knocked down 
at any time, or accept anything the occasion 
demands. 

They remind me of a ram with a bell tied 
around his neck. A ram that was kept in a 
sheep corral of a slaughter-house at the 
stockyards in Chicago. He was there to lead 
his unsuspecting friends to their death. He 
would circulate around amongst the hungry 
and frightened sheep and when a sufficient 
number were following him he would quietly 
walk up an incline run that led to a closed 
door of the slaughter-house. When his fol- 
lowers crowded around him the door would 
be thrown open and he would walk in and 
his friends follow. When the death room 
was filled with his wondering friends, the 
door would be closed behind, shutting off 
retreat. He would then walk to another 
closed door, where stood a man ready to 



Corrwpting Fellow Men 119 

open it for him. It opened to another inchne 
that led to the same corral where he repeated 
his act of deception. 

Women have been brought into the camp 
for the purpose of corrupting judges and 
have succeeded, and after being used tossed 
aside like an old rag. In early days I have 
seen men lined up in a row receiving money 
for their votes, selling their manhood for a 
few dollars. I have known women in Butte 
ready to sell themselves to the highest bidder; 
women who belong to what is known as the 
fashionable set. 

Some of Butte's leaders argue that indis- 
cretions may be overlooked in that set. If 
that be a conventionality of that set how 
preferable the other set is, those who may 
not be so influential; to whom fortune and 
trickery have not given so much of this world's 
goods; where the milk of human kindness 
runs through the veins; where hypocrisy is 
little known. There are no two rules with 
reference to propriety in the conduct of true 
man or womanhood. People never attain a 
position in which they can violate the things 
that go for decency, ignore them and excuse 
it because of self, because they may have at- 



120 Sketches of Butte 

tained what they think is a more exalted 
social position. 

There are no two standards of morality: 
one for Butte and one for some other place. 
There are men in Butte who are moral 
curses to the world. Men who wink at the 
robbery of people's money and at the robbery 
of little children. JNIen who haven't the well- 
opened eyelid or untiring gaze of the honest 
man. In speaking with them, there Ls no 
stamp of candor in the voice. They drop 
the eye to hide the duplicity. They sit back 
like cowards and have others do the criminal 
work, sowing seeds in youth that are in ma- 
turity harvested, and what is the crop? 
Criminals — is the only answer. 

Do the people decry this state of affairs? 
No! Most of them applaud and say they 
are good business men, and the professional 
howler stands around the streets howling for 
them: men who are paid handsomely for tell- 
ing of the wealthy criminal's beautiful traits 
of character and his many charitable acts the 
public are not cognizant of. Men who owe 
their wealth to some person's ruin never see 
the sunny side of life; their nights are cold 
and cheerless. Their slogan is: "If you 



Corrupting Fellow Men 121 

haven't anything authentic, frame up some- 
thing." They never experience the great 
needs of the heart; the sympathy, the vibrat- 
ing harmony of souls, and without a generous 
thought or close fellowship their lives dry 
and crumble like the leaves of a fading year. 
One night during recent labor troubles, I 
went down on the "Flat" where I could look 
back and see the searchlights in action. It 
was beautifully weird, and to one who real- 
ized the conditions as they exist in Butte — 
a fascinating tragedy. Night shut from view 
the ugliness and barrenness of the city on the 
hill, and all one could see was the fantastic 
electrical display — a sight for the romanticist. 
Searchlights were in every direction. A bril- 
liant glare, like the tail of a meteor or 
shooting-star, shone from what seemed to be 
the eyes of a dragon. One from the brow 
of the mountain would slowly move around 
like the winged serpent turning its head, 
crossing perhaps one in the valley or on a 
hill or dump. Sometimes the incandescent 
rays would meet and remain stationary. 
Then I saw flashes from what seemed to be 
immovable lights, like the blaze of Dante's 
column. They were signal lights sending 



122 Sketches of Butte 

their message of hatred and class war. It 
was a sad, beautiful tragedy, for one class 
of human beings was searching for those of 
another class. 



Chapter Thirteen 
THE CRIME OF BLACKMAIL 

In a mining camp where hundreds have 
staked their all on a chance for quick wealth, 
where life itself is regarded as a gamble and 
held cheaply; where the end always justifies 
the means, and the means are far too often 
worse than questionable, — as a natural se- 
quence, following closely on the heels of the 
more open corruptionist we find the jackal 
of crime, the blackmailer. 

In Butte the victims of blackmail are num- 
bered in the hundreds, and the proudest, the 
mightiest and best have paid their unwilling 
tribute. 

Blackmail is not only a heinous offense, 
but a very common one, few cases ever com- 
ing into public notice. In very many in- 
stances it is successful, the circumstances 
being such as to convince the victim that 
"division and silence" is better than the train 
of evils that might otherwise follow. Quite 
often the crime is so shrewdly planned as to 

123 



124 Sketches of Butte 

evade detection, in which case it seldom finds 
its way to publicit}^, whether the victim is or 
is not disposed to settle the matter with the 
criminal. In the nature of the offense, black- 
mail is one of the most despicable crimes in 
the roster of criminal possibilities, for while 
it partakes of the nature of robbery not only 
of money and property, but character, it may 
be infinitely worse when the threat is carried 
into effect. Murder, arson, and a dozen other 
crimes may be woven into the possible results 
of blackmail. 

A man may hold an important position 
where he learns many secrets of the corpora- 
tion employing him. He has a misunder- 
standing with some dfRcial, — a meeting is 
held and he is voted out. He may get into 
some serious trouble. He may commit mur- 
der, arson, or sedition. All he has to do is 
to say to his former employers, "You protect 
me in my crimes or I will expose you in 
yours," and he is protected while the flame 
of hatred burns in their breasts. 

Another fellow persuades some weak char- 
acter to commit perjury for him. He is 
asked to do it again, but demurs. Threats 
of prosecution for perjury are made and he 



Tlie Crime of Blackmail 125 

says, "I will commit perjury for you, but 
you must come through with some money, 
or else I will see that you are prosecuted for 
instigating perjury" — and he comes through. 
One is the victim of the other, and they must 
smile and grasp each other by the hand while 
in public, for the world must not know they 
all are criminals. 

Thej^ are starving mental paupers. Their 
lives are cramped and withered for food of 
an honest thought. A man's true reward in 
life is found in his own soul. Some never 
wear the honest halo of good deeds, or are 
embalmed by love or garlanded by affections 
of fellow man, and lonesome they travel 
through life, and at last night time comes on 
and there is no sound from the dying lips 
save the moan of blackened manhood, and 
when his body is lowered into the grave 
people turn away with mingled thoughts. 

The fact of Butte's being so thoroughly 
advertised throughout the world as an ex- 
travagantly wealthy place, where people are 
lavish in expenditure, brings adventurers of 
all descriptions. Business sharks come with 
the adventuress, and others come solely for 
the purpose of blackmail. 



126 Sketches of Butte 

At one time, a middle-aged woman, with 
two young women she called her daughters, 
came to the city and rented a furnished 
house. The young women were good-looking 
and vivacious, and soon met many of the 
men about town. Not long thereafter, whis- 
perings of peculiar doings were heard, and 
it was said a prominent politician had been 
held up for eight hundred dollars. One eve- 
ning, I met a prominent doctor, and he told 
me of his e;xperience with the alleged mother, 
and how he had settled with her by giving 
her a block of spurious mining stock. 

That same evening the alleged mother 
went to a hotel where a young man lived, 
called for a "bell hop" and sent her card to 
the young man. The boy found the in- 
tended victim in the lobby. "There is a lady 
in the parlor wishes to see you," he said, as 
he handed him the card. The young man 
went to the room where she was waiting, and 
she began without formality, "You have been 
out with my youngest daughter." The young 
man did not reply, but stood quietly listen- 
ing. "She has not finished her education, 
and I want two thousand dollars to send her 
to a finishing school." The young man then 



The Crime of Blackmail 127 

spoke in a quiet, deliberate manner, "I know 
your game. You have bumped up against 
the wrong man, and if you and your alleged 
daughters are not out of Butte inside of 
twenty-four hours, I will have you jailed for 
attempting blackmail." A few hours later 
a train carried them out of the city. 

Three months later, the two girls returned 
to Eutte and were inmates of a brothel in the 
restricted district. The alleged mother has 
not been heard from. 

I will mention just one other case, as it 
is a splendid illustration as to what extent 
people will go in crime, and shows how some 
who are looked upon as respectable will in- 
dulge in the "get rich quick" proposition. 
It is the case of two young men who were 
supposed to have plenty of money. It was 
an attempt to extort a large sum of money 
from these young fellows. It had been 
planned with much forethought, and some 
people think that the principal criminals were 
not apprehended, and their scheme was not 
carried out, and that was to drive one of the 
young fellows from the city. In other words, 
— ^make it so unpleasant for him he would 



128 Sketches of Butte 

not stay in Butte. He interfered with the 
high hand of a certain element. 

The young men both hved at the same 
hotel. A young woman came to the city 
and procured a position as manicurist in the 
barber shop of the hotel. From there she 
went to a house of ill repute not far from the 
hotel. 

Now the principals in the case were these: 
The two young men on the one side, and on 
the other the ex-manicurist, a doctor, a law- 
yer _whom people in addressing say, the 
Honorable , a sanctimonious church- 
member, another lawyer who had filled one 
of the highest state offices the people have 
to offer to a citizen, and a woman who, it 
was afterwards learned, was the mistress of 
the ex- State official. 

Threats of a lawsuit were made if the men 
did not come through with a large amount 
of money. The threateners were wisely en- 
couraged along to a position where it was 
either bring the suit or be prosecuted for 
attempt at blackmail. The mother of one 
of the young men lived in an Eastern city. 
He explained matters to her and she stood, 
firmly by his side. The young fellows, in 



The Crime of Blackmail 129 

facing a nasty "frame-up," argued that peo- 
ple who did not stand by them at such a time 
were not worthy of the name friend. Mat- 
ters were forced and at last the suit was 
brought. Several overtures for settlement 
were made by the plaintiffs. At one stage 
of the proceedings, the sanctimonious lawyer 
sent for one of the defendants to come to 
his office, and when the young man went 
there, the fellow said, "For two hundred and 
fifty dollars I will have your name stricken 
from the proceedings." At the same time, 
the doctor in the case made the same propo- 
sition to the other young fellow. 

It was a clever mode of procedure, but it 
fell through, and a day for the hearing was 
set. The day before the hearing, the ex-State 
official called at the office of one of the 
defendant's attorneys and made a plea to 
withdraw the case. "I will withdraw the case 
for two dollars and a half^ just what it cost 
to draw up the complaint." His offer was 
refused. It was another clever ruse, but did 
not v/ork. 

At ten o'clock in the morning of the day 
set for the hearing, the plaintiffs w^ere not in 
Court, neither was the doctor nor sancti- 



130 Sketches of Butte 

monious lawyer. The ex- State official was 
there. When the Court convened he had 
disappeared, and the Judge let the case go 
over until one o'clock in the afternoon. 
When that hour came, even the ex-official 
was not there. This was Monday, and the 
Judge let it go over until the following 
Thursday, and when that day came none of 
the parties to the complaint were to be found, 
and later on it was learned that the ex- 
manicurist was an inmate of a brothel in 
San Francisco, and the other "lady" in the 
case was a resident of "The Castle," the most 
exclusive resort in the restricted district of 
Helena. 



Chapter Fourteen 
PATRIOTS AND TRAITORS 

When the world war began it seemed in 
Butte a signal for an orgy of profiteering. 
Professional flag wavers and other traitors 
of the rankest type were much in evidence. 
They were at the head of patriotic parades, 
and the loudest spouters of "hot air" at 
meetings. And when lined up against the 
bar of their club would tell most startling 
stories of bravery and what they would do 
if younger — playing to the gallery; a men- 
tal condition almost unbelievable. They 
w^ould give their money, but scheme in some 
way to get it back from the less fortunate; 
just a little touch of profiteering here and 
there. 

Some gave wholly for the glory of self- 
advertising, and humanity was laid aside by 
the fake philanthropist and limelight seekers. 

Many in life's young morning, so myste- 
rious, so splendid, proudly volunteered to go 
where the war cry of freedom would be 

131 



132 Sketches of Butte 

loudest and clear, and glory and work came 
to them blended. 



Twilight came and all nature seemed a land of dreams 
As the sound of music wheeled into the air, 

Full of life like the world in springtime teems, 
The boys answered the bugle blare. 

And then along the quiet street. 

Beneath a purple and crimson low-hanging cloud. 
Came the muffled sound of many feet 

And a wave of colors proud. 

They were answering the voice of their Nation. 
"Your path of honor is made plain and clear ; 
Let the gun be a joy — not a yoke; 

Let the Star-Spangled Banner fill the air." 

They marched by in manly rows ; 

Each eye told of the spirit of pride within. 
Their cheeks not ashen, but like a rose 

In twilight shadows, cool and dim. 

Evening glow came stealing through a cloud that was 
fading away, 

Like a river ceasing to flow; 
Friends waved, "God speed you on your way !" 

As they tramped ahead to meet the foe. 



Patriots and Traitors 133 

It was a glowing crimson time of change, 

An evening not to be forgot ; 
Life throbbing and quivering strong and strange, 

As they marched by with never a stop. 

The music, not muffled, but soft, gave thrills 

To the fathomless dreaming air. 
Full of glory and pride, though still. 

As they passed their friends standing there. 

The air was full of pride and farewell 

As they marched along with steady tramp ; 

The music was mystic, as soft notes fell 

And died in the distance with that tramp, tramp, 
tramp. 

Some did not return, for they fell asleep in 
the glare and blast of the cannon's roar. In 
poppy fields of France crosses mark the spot 
where they rest. They were — 

Boys whose heart-strings to rest were stilled 

Not on the path of Gethsemane ; 
For their anthem was sung on the battlefield with 
patriotic thrill 

Of love and honor by their comrades manj^ 

Boys who would say, "Come away from that path. 
That road that leads to Gethsemane ; 

For we want much cheer right up to the last, 
To encourage the weak hearts of many." 



134 Sketches of Butte 

Boys who would say, "We have entered the portals 
that lie ahead, 

Not the land of Gethsemane ; 
A land where we speak no such word as dead, 

A realm of reward to soldiers many." 

From the portals beyond we hear their refrain — 
"Let us lead you from the path of Gethsemane; 
Our spirits will hover near and mark your path until 
we meet again 
Where you will learn the mysteries of life and 
understand — with comrades many." 

Those who returned in the noble grace of 
manhood robed, and souls throbbing with life 
and the true feeling of man, proud and under 
the flag their fathers flew, with heads erect, 
marched through the multitude's roar for the 
Boys and the Red, White and Blue. 

Woodlands echoed a new-born day 

Of life full of hope and gleam ; 
Now proudly they go their different way, 

Happy to think they helped work out God's scheme. 

As peace thrills the tranquil deep, ] 

And murmuring rhythmic calm fills 
Shadowy vales and prairies that sweep 

Far out towards majestic mountains and rolling 
hills— 



Patriots and Traitors 135 

The slacker comes back to town. The 
draft-evader does not know the meaning of 
the word shame any more than does the 
profiteer. If he has a shght feehng of a 
world glorified by truth and honor, how he 
must cringe before memories, for he has no 
noble recollections of the part he played. 



Chapter Fifteen 
THE HANGING OF FRANK LITTLE 

A far cry from the rude justice of Vigi- 
lante days, the darkest shadow ever placed 
on Butte's shady canvas was the assassination 
of Frank Little. Many newswriters tried to 
dignify the act by the word "lynching." It 
was not a lynching. It had not the semblance 
of an early day hunching, when honorable 
men gave the suspect a fair trial and if he 
was convicted they hanged him in the pres- 
ence of the populace. 

They were a few masked cowards who 
went in the dead of night to the victim they 
knew had been drugged by a traitor and lay 
sleeping while waiting their coming; his 
clothes lying over the back of a chair while 
he quietly slept on. He was an agitator, 
but had the right to a trial, which was denied 
him. 

In this day and age there are Courts of 
Justice where people may carry grievances 
and have them adjusted; but no, they went 

136 



The Hanging of Frank Little 137 

like animals crazed for blood. They broke 
down one door but did not find him. They 
broke down another just across the hall and 
there found him (as the evidence given at 
the inquest showed) lying fast asleep. They 
laid the bedding over the "foot of the bed (as 
the evidence showed) and then dragged the 
cripple down the stairs and out into the 
night and then into an automobile that stood 
in waiting; and quickly drove to a trestle on 
the outskirts of the city. They were looking 
for blood and found it, for it came from 
wounds they inflicted upon the body of their 
victim before they hanged him to the trestle. 
This was during recent labor troubles and 
caused world-wide comment. 

The funeral procession of Frank Little 
formed near the Federal building and the 
Marcus Daly monument, and it seemed as 
if Daly stood there upon the granite pedestal 
a silent looker-on. It was the most unusual 
funeral procession that has ever passed along 
the streets of a city. The body reposing in 
a gray casket over which had been laid a 
blanket of red bloom, fastened by streamers 
of ribbon of the same color, was borne on the 
shoulders of six stalwart men as it was re- 



138 Sketches of Butte 

moved from the undertakers' parlor to the 
street, and there the procession formed and 
started on the silent march of three miles 
down the mountain side to a cemetery in the 
valley. 

On the side streets adjacent to Main were 
societies waiting to fall in line when their 
turn came. First a band softly playing a 
funeral dirge moved down the street; then 
one or two societies, and following on the 
shoulders of six friends came the casket con- 
taining the body. The moving-picture man 
was there and along the line of march 
cameras were in windows. Silent men 
marched four abreast. Women with babes 
at the breast were in line. Mothers pushed 
go-carts while fathers carried children who 
were not able to walk. 

From where I stood watching the unusual 
procession, I heard chunk- chunk- chunk. It 
was a man with a wooden leg, not an artificial 
limb, just a wooden stump that went chunk- 
chunk-chunk as he silently plodded along, 
and not far behind him came a man on 
crutches. 

I stood at a comer of a street where the 
Company offices were. As marchers reached 



The Hanging of Frank Little 139 

the corner I noticed eyes glance up at the 
building and then straight ahead as they 
marched on. There was no word of com- 
plaint uttered, but tragedy was written upon 
each face, and I said to myself as I stood 
there, "And some wonder why there is class 
hatred." 

Services were held at the grave, and as the 
casket was being lowered, friends passed by 
and placed a red carnation on the top of the 
already bloom-covered casket. 



Chapter Sixteen 
MAINLY ABOUT HOUSES 

Even in architecture Butte is not like any 
other city in the world, for here and there 
one will find a touch of Serb, Greek, Italian 
and English; also some attractive Swiss and 
other designs. Two Irishmen, who made 
fortunes, built beautiful places. Southern 
Colonial in design, such as one would see 
on large estates, but not in cities. 

Towards the center of the city from these 
two places, there are three houses Spanish 
in architecture. They stand on a rise of 
ground called Hibernian Terrace, and on a 
corner further in is a house patterned after 
a wing of a French chateau, and close by is 
a combination of arts, but no harmonious 
whole; the color scheme is good. 

And then as we follow on to the east side 
of the city, we see a touch of Chinese. Near 
Timber Butte one will see a curl of blue 
smoke coming from an Indian tepee, and at 

140 



Mainly About Houses 141 

the foot of Big Butte stands an attractive 
Dutch Colonial. 

The most artistic residence in the city is 
one on the brow of a knoll called "Lovers' 
Roost." It is patterned after a Swiss chalet 
and built entirely of manganese and silver 
ore, and at times when the atmosphere is 
clear and the sun rays bright, the color effect 
is beautiful. 

The house, patterned after a wing of a 
French chateau, was built by a son of a 
multi-millionaire. The young man married 
and went to Europe for the honeymoon, and 
it was while on this trip they saw and ad- 
mired the old chateau. 

When the house was finished, there was 
no lawn surrounding it, for it was erected 
at a time when grass would not grow in the 
city, and house-plants could not live if a win- 
dow was left open, for the leaves of plants 
would turn yellow and then wither and dry. 
So the young people had the yard flagged 
with cobble-stone. 

Even the shamrock does not blossom in 
its natural color, no matter how well it is 
guarded. A relative in the Old Countrj^ 
sent a box of shamrock roots and some soil 



142 Sketches of Butte 

to a relative in Butte. The roots were planted 
and protected in every way. At last, sprouts 
appeared above the earth, and there was 
great rejoicing in the neighborhood, for they 
were soon to see the real shamrock blossom. 
Buds came, and then sorrow, for the blossom 
was yellow. Some laid it to the sulphm^ 
fumes, others to the influence of a Cornish 
colony close by. 

In the young millionaire's home there was 
a beautiful library finished in bird's-eye 
maple, and in the other part of the house the 
woodwork was mahogany and old ivory. 
The house has changed owners several times. 
The second owners made many changes. One 
day I was asked to go over and see the im- 
provements. When I went in I was stag- 
gered to see what had been done. White 
enamel paint had been put over the beautiful 
old ivory. "I never could get the paint to 
look clean," said the occupant, in speaking of 
the old ivory. And when she showed me the 
library, she said, "You know, mahogany is so 
'swell.' " She had stained the bird's-eye maple. 

When people became rich on short notice, 
it seemed to be the heart's desire to live in 
this house. 



Mainly About Houses 143 

The drawing-room was a large octagonal 
apartment, and anything but easy to furnish. 
The first owners had some handsome pieces 
of Louis the Fourteenth and Sixteenth, and 
antique tapestries, and the room was very 
attractive. But those following did not 
know. One day I met one of the occupants 
of later years standing looking into the win- 
dow of an Oriental rug store. I stopped to 
speak with her. "Are you buying rugs this 
morning?" I asked. "I should say not!" 
she answered, in much spirit. "None of 
them things for me. I think this fellow be 
a fake, so I do, an' — I heered he were a 
camel driver in his own country. He per- 
suaded us to take some of um on approval, 
so he did, an' he come up an' put 'em down 
hisself. He didn't tack um down, an' they 
wouldn't lay straight. One day I wint into 
the parlor, so I did, an' me fate slipt an' I 
wint down an' almost unther the middle rug. 
The old man came runnin' up, so he did, to 
say phwat were the matter, an' w^hin I looked 
up, he were a-slidin' across the floor on one 
of thim Sherooks; an' we sent um all back. 
I wint down town, so I did, an' had a foine 
one made, an' had it made round to fit the 



144 Sketches of Butte 

room. I don't care much fer thim polished 
floors, fer ivery toime I mop up the dust I 
have to polish thim agin, so I do." 

"Look at this one, now," she said, pointing 
to a pretty Beluchistan, "an' see if ye don't 
think he be a fake. It's two or three shades 
lighter at this end than it be at the other." 

As we stood talking, a man who had just 
made a "clean up" and bought a pretty home, 
came along and said to me, "You are just 
the man I want to see. Come into Samo- 
leon's with me. My wife wants an Oriental 
rug, and I want you to help me select it." 

The dealer first showed him a beautiful 
Hoyal-Bokhara. "These are all fine Orien- 
tals," he said, as he displayed a handsome 
Kirmanshah and Shiraz. He did not seem 
pleased with any that had been shown to him. 
The dealer brought out another, and while 
unfolding it said, "Now, this is the finest 
Turkish I have in the house." The customer 
said, as he waved his hand, "You needn't 
unfold it, she has her heart set on an Ori- 
ental." 

A market called City Public Market has 
been established in the city, and is a mass 
of architecture in itself. When I went down 




■J 



\^ ' 






Mainly About Houses 145 

the hill to this market the first glimpse of 
the place sort of staggered me, and I said 
to myself, "Plow incongruous," and my mind 
at once traveled back to Italy and the Appian 
Way, a road leading into Rome, and an 
afternoon I was out for a drive and stopped 
at an old tomb that had been swept out and 
made a hving place for a family, while another 
had been converted into a store where bits 
of things were sold. 

In chapter "Wandering Around" I de- 
scribe the section of the city where this 
market is located. The little one-room 
shacks huddled close together and close to 
the edge of the sidewalk are the small "cribs" 
w^here in early days unfortunates stood in the 
doorway and solicited. They have been made 
into booths where groceries, meats and other 
produce is sold. 

On the outer edge of the sidewalk small 
stalls are built, half over a portion of the 
walk and part in the street. The front of 
the stalls faced the doors of the "cribs" and 
a roof built over the walk from the stalls to 
the "cribs," gave it a decidedly foreign 
appearance, and resembled market-places in 
poorer sections of foreign cities, such as 



146 Sketches of Butte 

Petticoat Alley in the Whitechapel district 
of London, where Saturday nights one can 
buy anything from a piano to a pig's snout, 
and Paddy's Market in Cork, where on Sat- 
urday marketers flock to buy provisions for 
the Sabbath day. 

When I entered the passageway, the first 
booth I stopped at was occupied by a Finnish 
woman. I said to her, "Much like Helsing- 
fors?" 

At first she was surprised. "You know 
Helsingf ors ?" she smiled pleasantly. "Yes, 
it does; but not as large," she said, as I 
turned to take notice of a Russian Jew who 
came slowly along. He wore the long beard 
and Derby hat pulled low on the head, so 
characteristic of his race, and the Prince 
Albert coat and gold hoop earrings were not 
forgotten. True — the coat was old and be- 
draggled, and the hat faded and dusty, 
nevertheless it was the costume, and I said 
to the woman I had been talking with, "I 
must leave you, for here comes Moscow." 

He was pleasant and smiled when I said 
to him: "My man, you should be pushing a 
cart filled with jewelry, pretty laces, some 
corset-covers and gay-colored ribbons." 



Mainly About Houses 147 

"I see you have been in my country," he 
smiled, and passed on. 

I also slowly walked along, stopping here 
and there, and in imagination again visiting 
the markets of Venice, Palermo, Algiers and 
other interesting places. 

In the early sixties a few prospectors, 
looking for gold, pitched their tents on the 
site that is now Butte. And a little later, 
and some farther up the side of the hill, a 
few log cabins were built and the camp 
staked out and named Butte City, for it was 
near a barren hill called Big Butte, and so 
the spectacular city of Butte was born to 
become the most noted camp in the world, 
and about fifty-two nationalities are repre- 
sented today, and their influence adds to the 
picturesqueness of the camp. 

Many there are who have memory and love 
for the Fatherland, and this is shown in the 
architecture of their homes. 

I remember seeing the modest home of a 
Greek. In front of the little three-room 
cottage were two columns, one at either side 
of the door. They were made out of the 
trunks of pine trees — trunks that had been 
barked and placed in position to represent 



148 Sketches of Butte 

Corinthian columns. It showed the inborn 
love for columnar architecture. I noticed at 
the top of one column some crude carving 
made to represent acanthus leaves. 



Chapter Seventeen 
THE PLAGUE 

The tragedy of a great disaster is no 
novelty in Butte. Again and again anxious 
throngs have passed around the openings 
to the mine shafts, or watched the slow curl- 
ing smoke wreaths, that told of death to the 
workers imprisoned thousands of feet below. 
But in after years the plague of 1918 will 
be recorded as Butte's greatest tragedy. 
Early in the year there were rumors of the 
appearance of a new and virulent plague 
that threatened the world. It first appeared 
in Europe, then came to us. Climatic con- 
ditions did not effect it. It scourged every 
land and clime — the polar regions and the 
tropics. 

It had been very violent among the Esqui- 
maux of northern Alaska, while Papeete, the 
principal city of Tahiti — an island just south 
of the Equator, lost twenty per cent of its 
population, and here in America its first toll 
was well over half a million. The "black 

149 



150 Sketches of Butte 

death" of the fourteenth century alone in 
history compares with the Plague of 1918-19, 
although of a vastly different nature. Dur- 
ing the scourge of "black death" Italy lost 
one-half of her population. At that time the 
masses of Switzerland were without educa- 
tion and as is usually the case with such 
people superstition was uppermost and the 
Jews were accused of poisoning the wells. 
This intensified religious fanaticism and per- 
secutions followed. The peacock feather, the 
symbol of the Jews, was not allowed worn 
and all the peacocks in the land were killed. 
That is why, by many, the peacock feather 
is considered unlucky. 

In many localities, after losing its viru- 
lence, the present disease returns in a more 
virulent form. There seems to be three 
germs, each with characteristics peculiarly its 
own. The three distinct types of disease are 
both contagious and infectious. 

Owing to the cosmopolitan population, 
Butte was the most advantageous place to 
study the disease; so interesting to watch 
and work with different temperaments. 
Foreigners, especially those of the Latin 
countries, are more nervous and excitable. 



The Plague 151 

Grab them mentally, if possible, and by so 
doing make the delirium less violent or death 
easier. While they are being prepared for 
bed, try and get the extent of their education, 
their station in life, their trend of thought, 
and by so doing it is easier to help them 
through the crisis. Knowing the patient, 
one can more easily give the mental suggest 
tion. The "Flu" is more than one-third 
mental. Many without temperature or a 
symptom of the disease died of fright. Many 
developed general malaise and gradually 
sank away. 

As a rule the disease develops rapidly, 
reaching its crisis in about three days. An- 
other form, the patient feels miserable for 
a few days, but does not know the cause. 
He would pooh-pooh the suggestion of 
plague until at last it reaches the heart and 
he dies suddenly; some drop in the street. 

A large airy schoolhouse was turned over 
to the Red Cross for a hospital as the city 
hospitals were all filled. When the hospital 
was opened to receive patients the school 
teachers and a few other volunteer women 
came together as one. They were there to 
cook, they were there to nurse. They were 



152 Sketches of Butte 

God's noble women — there to do anything 
in their power for the sufferers. They were 
in the kitchen and sick rooms, banded to- 
gether in true womanhood, working night 
and day with a zeal surpassed by none. 

In the office were two men: one, a true 
man reared under the blue skies, with the 
pure air of the west to breathe, a possessor 
of sincere friendship and love of humanity; 
the other of foreign birth, small and delicate 
in stature, with a finesse such as Oscar Wilde 
possessed when he made his initial tour of 
America, a time when he wore knickerbockers 
and a sunflower in the lapel of his coat; a 
time when he made the startling announce- 
ment, "A kitchen stove is the most horrible 
thing I can look at." It was necessary for 
the nurses to carry through the corridors 
commodities used in the sick rooms. The 
young man's artistic temperament revolted 
and he was soon taken to his bed. 

The ambulance was kept busy night and 
day bringing in the sick. Doctors' cars stood 
in front of the main entrance at all times. 
There was a back door and a side door where 
the undertakers came. Patients who were 
able to stand alone when they left the am- 



The Plague 153 

bulance at the front door seemed dazed; some 
were emaciated from hunger and long at- 
tempt to care for themselves. 

One handsome young fellow said to me, 
as he came in: "Doctor, will you give me a 
sandwich? I am, oh! so hungry." He did 
not live long; there was not enough left to 
work on. 

In one ward, two days after the hospital 
opened its doors to receive patients, in the 
west end of the large room, was a row of 
five beds, each bed containing a delirious 
patient — strong, robust men, and across the 
narrow aisle were four cots with as many 
delirious patients. Out of the nine we saved 
four. They were all desperately sick and 
most of them violently delirious. This ward 
was a splendid illustration of Butte's cos- 
mopolitan population for, at one time, I 
remember, there were several Austrians, a 
Mormon, two Greeks, two Irishmen, a Cor- 
nishman, a Jew, two Americans, a Finn, an 
Italian, a Polander, a Slav and a Swede. 

One night it was necessary to give an 
Italian a hypodermic of morphine; he was 
becoming violently delirious. I was holding 
him down trying to get his arm in a position 



154 Sketches of Butte 

where he could not jerk and break the needle. 
As he felt the prick of the needle he became 
very violent and bit me on the arm. It was 
necessary to tie his hands and feet. Soon 
the narcotic took effect and he fell asleep. 
For several days after that he would watch 
me closely as I passed around the ward, and 
to some of those who came near him, he 
would say, "I don't like the big fellow; he 
sticks needles in me." He again became vio- 
lent and very noisy, and it was again neces- 
sary to give him a hypodermic. When he 
quieted down, he said to me: "I feel better; 
I go to sleep; when I wake up I be quiet." 
I had gained his confidence and he got well. 
Whenever I would go near his cot he would 
move his legs over to make room for me to 
sit down. 

A Polander lay desperately sick and de- 
lirious, but not violent. In the forepart of 
the night several doctors said: "You will 
send him to the undertaker's before morning." 
About midnight the delirious man said to 
me: "Doctor, is the war over?" I told him 
I thought so and that I was to be President 
of Poland. "How splendid," he said, as he 
brightened up. I asked him if he wanted to 



The Plague 155 

work for me. "Yes," he said, "let's go back 
now," and he tried to leave his bed. I told 
him he was sick, but we would go as soon 
as he got well, and he was to be my coach- 
man. I asked him to try and help me make 
him well. I described the livery I was to 
have made for him and then he fell asleep. 
During the days that followed he would say 
to those who came near him, "The big doctor 
is to be President of Poland and I am going 
to work for him." A week or so later he left 
for Spokane a well man^ 

I said to ai Greek who lay in a bed adjoin- 
ing the Polander's: "Have you ever been 
through the Dardanelles?" He said, "Yes, 
many times." I put him in charge of a gun 
at the entrance of the Dardanelles and he 
watched it fc^ithfully. Once in a while I 
would go to the side of his bed and say to 
him, "Son, I'm through with my work now 
and will watch the gun while you rest." He 
would fall asleep. He is a well man today. 

One young fellow, nineteen years of age, 
was in such condition it was necessary to 
tie his feet to the bars at the foot of the bed, 
his hands at the side, and a strip of cloth 
under his chin and tied to the bars at the 



156 Sketches of Butte 

head of the bed. His doctor treated him 
with ice compresses. We tried every possible 
means to quiet him. At last I said to him: 
"Bill, I'm dreadfully busy and want you to 
look after this part of the ward and report 
to me when I return." He quieted down, 
and when I went to his bed some time later 
he said: "All those fellows have colds but one 
and he's a nut; he's got the 'flu.'" I told 
him I was all through with my work and 
would watch them while he got his rest, and 
he fell asleep. He is now back at work. 

I believe most of the patients, although 
unable to give expression, are conscious up 
to the last. Gus, a Greek, bears me out in 
this. At the beginning of his sickness he did 
not sleep at all, was noisy, and sang a great 
deal in an undertone. Hypodermics had no 
effect upon him. I asked him to try count- 
ing sheep jumping over a fence. He tried 
it before becoming delirious. He was about 
four days dying, and just before the breath 
left his body I could hear him counting al- 
most inaudibly, one, two, three; one, two, 
three came from the lips that were parched 
with tartian malaria. 

An Austrian's death brought tears to many 



The Plague 157 

eyes. Pie was a handsome fellow, and a 
fine patient. Wonderfully educated. When 
asked his nationality, he said in a joshing 
waj^: "I'm a Scandinavian." As he was 
passing into delirium I said to him: "John, 
what part of Scandinavia are you from?" 
He looked at me and said, "For God's sake 
don't call me a Swede. I'm an Austrian." 
And from that time on, even after coming 
from delirium, he often spoke his native 
tongue. One night he asked me to let him 
hold the rosary in his hands. "First," he said, 
"let us sing 'Over There.' " He had a good 
voice and sang a few lines of the patriotic 
song. His strength was on the wane and 
he could go no further. His nerves were 
active almost to the state of hysteria. 
"Daddy," he said, "may I have a cigarette?" 
I drew a screen partly around his cot and 
let him have one. Only one or two attempts 
to smoke and he laid it down. I asked him 
why he called me "Daddy." His answer 
was: "Because we love those who are kind 
to us." He asked me if I knew the story 
of the song, "The Rosary." When I told 
him I did, he said: "Tell it to me. I know 
it, but I want to hear vou tell it." He 



158 Sketches of Butte 

quietly listened as I told how Rodgers, the 
composer of the words, was inspired by an 
episode in his life, and how he found expres- 
sion in the string of pearls, and of the 
romance and tragic death of the composer 
of the music. When I had finished he looked 
around and then said, "Daddy, draw the 
screen a little closer and come here." He 
then told me of the romance in his life, and 
the love story he told in Spanish was like a 
beautiful bouquet. They were the last ra- 
tional words he spoke. Soon there were signs 
of meningitis, and in a few hours the under- 
taker came. 

A j^oung man from the Postal Telegraph 
office was an interesting patient. He was 
restless and kept trying to get out of bed. 
The forepart of one night he said to me, "I 
want to send a private message." I told him 
to lie back on his pillows and let me tuck 
his feet in and then he could send it. His 
right hand came out of the covers, and for a 
moment his fingers worked an imaginary 
ticker. Then he said, "Please look after the 
office while I send this Armour & Co. code 
message to Spokane." He then worked the 
imaginary ticker for about half an hour, and 



The Plague 159 

then said, "I'm tired — it's hard work, the 
phrasing is so difficult." 

I told him I also was tired and asked him 
to go to sleep and let me go to bed, and in 
the morning we would straighten up things. 
He fell asleep. In about two hours I went 
m the ward again. He was sitting up in bed. 
One of the nurses said he had been asking 
for me. When I went to the side of his 
bed he said, "I have a thirteen hundred word 
message to send. Please help me." 

He lay back on the pillow and closed his 
eyes while his fingers worked the imaginary 
ticker for a little over three-quarters of an 
hour, then he looked up at me and said, "It's 
finished. My work is done." Then closed 
his eyes and soon the undertaker came. 

Many souls seemed too weak to release 
themselves from the body. One night a 
hurry call came for me to go to a ward on 
the second floor. A man wished to make 
his will. A few days before I had sent his 
wife to the undertaker's. When I went into 
that room the scene was worse than any 
picture of Dante's Inferno. The lights wxre 
dimmed by tissue paper. Patients were 
writhing and groaning in anguish, and a 



160 Sketches of Butte 

purple haze had settled over several who 
were passing away. A minister was making 
a spectacular prayer beside a patient's bed, 
while the nurses went quietly about their 
work. After I drew up his will and he 
signed it he said, "I now feel better and will 
go to sleep." I laid him back on his pillow, 
and in a short time the undertaker came. 

A bride and groom came from the northern 
part of the state. It was a sad honeymoon, 
for in a few hours after reaching Butte they 
both came to the hospital. He recovered, 
but took his bride home in a casket. 

Little ones were sent to the undertakers, 
while parents struggled with death. Parents 
were taken to the undertakers leaving little 
ones in the nursery. Little families have gone 
together to the life beyond. One night a 
baby was bom while on an adjoining cot a 
life flickered and passed away. 

That same night a patient came in — a 
young man of about thirty years. The 
lights that hung from the ceiling were cov- 
ered with different colored tissue paper. He 
seemed to be watching them. When I went 
to the side of his cot he said, ^'Doctor, is this 
an insane asvlum?" I told him it was a hos- 



The Plague 161 

pital and the moans came from the sick. He 
quieted as his eyes turned back to the lights, 
covered with tissue, then turned to a nurse 
and said, "Will you let the canary birds sing 
for me?" 

A most interesting patient was a young 
man seventeen years of age and engaged to 
be married to a sweet young girl. His face 
was handsome and strong, but younger than 
his years would indicate. His body was the 
making of a wonderful man physically. He 
loved flowers and the nurses were kind to 
keep him supplied. At times he was deliri- 
ous, and then again he seemed to be just 
half -conscious. At one time when we thought 
he was wholly unconscious, I tried him out. 
I said to one of the nurses, who stood close 
by, "I think he is a Finlander." His eyes 
opened quickly as he turned to me and said, 
"No, I am Scotch Irish." 

The evening before he died I gave him a 
fresh carnation. All that night he held it in 
his hand. Once in a while he would seem to 
be looking for something — the carnation had 
dropped from his hand and he was searching 
for it. 

His sweetheart came and stayed all that 



162 Sketches of Butte 

night, as did several other loved ones. When 
she first came in and stood by the side of his 
bed, his eyes seemed puzzled. He looked 
at me, then back at her. Recognition came. 
The hand with the carnation went out to her 
as he said, "Oh, Nell, it's you." 

About midnight one of the nurses brought 
him a pink rose. He lay with the carnation 
in one hand and the rose in the other. At 
day-break I thought he was getting better 
and his friends went home. About nine 
o'clock I gave him a fresh carnation. He 
kissed the back of my hand and said, "Doctor, 
don't leave me — it will soon be over." His 
chin quivered as tears came to his eyes. The 
undertaker soon came. 

A young man, whose lungs were rapidly 
filhng, motioned to me to come to where he 
lay. "Nurse," he said in a low whisper, "y^u 
are strong, will you take me to the roof and 
toss me up in the pure air so I can breathe?" 
He soon smothered to death. 



Chapter Eighteen 
GOING DRY 

The old Bohemian days have passed, 
When the stakes of the game ran high, 
And friendships counted a damn sight more 
Than they do since the camp went dry. 

From the Sage of Butte. 

If Bethel had always been dry there never 
would have been written the story of Jacob 
"seeing things." To really appreciate that 
story, one should see the Stone of Scone, 
which tradition identifies as the one upon 
which Jacob rested his head. The stone is 
now beneath the seat of the ancient corona- 
tion chair in Westminster Abbey. It is sup- 
posed Jacob's son took the stone to Egypt, 
and King Gathelus took it from there to 
Spain. It next appeared in Ireland, being 
taken there by Simon Brech. It was placed 
on the sacred hill of Tara and called "Lia- 
Fail," the "fatal" stone or "stone of destiny." 
From there it found its way to Scotland, 
where King Kenneth placed it in Scone. 

163 



164 Sketches of Butte 

King Edward I took it to England, where 
it now rests. It is a stone, I should say, 
about ten by thirty inches and mightily 
uncomfortable looking for a pillow for a 
teetotaler. 

Butte was supposed to have gone dry at 
midnight, December 30th, 1918. Many a 
time during previous years, the columns of 
the newspapers have contained declarations 
made by men holding high public office that 
the laws of the state against gambling, pros- 
titution, road-houses and the like would 
henceforth be rigidly enforced. And, after 
a brief interval, these evils would be as ram- 
pant in the community as ever. 

The Attorney General of Montana, in 
speaking of Butte and conditions in general, 
said, "Butte is going to be cleaned up and 
kept cleaned up. While I realize that Butte 
is a different town with a different class of 
people to handle than any other town in the 
state, this is no excuse for the conditions that 
exist there. Just the method to be employed, 
I am not yet ready to disclose, but plans 
are being matured and the work will be done, 
whether I get the help of the county and 
city officials or not." 



Going Dry 165 

Shortly after midnight a small-sized riot 
occurred at one resort and heer bottles and 
chairs were used with great energy. No one 
seemed to know who started the fight, but 
when the officers arrived everybody in the 
place seemed to have a hand in it. 

Several were arrested on a disturbance 
charge, and the police then ordered eveiy one 
out of the place. A detail of police was 
stationed at the front door after the disturb- 
ance to prevent any one entering. 

Three wagons were kept busy most of the 
night bringing in drunks and men charged 
with disturbance. The emergency hospital 
was also a busy place, and the city physician 
and nurses treated many broken heads and 
bruised faces. 

On the whole, it was a quiet night, consid- 
ering the fact that it was the last night the 
saloons were supposed to be open in Butte. 
At the cabarets the question was not, "Will 
they sell drinks after midnight?" but, "Will 
there be any liquor left by midnight?" 

About half a dozen of the most frequented 
bars announced during the afternoon that 
nothing stronger than beer was obtainable — 
everything stronger had been disposed of. 



166 Sketches of Butte 

In the places where "hard licker" was still to 
be had patrons were lined in front of the 
bar in a double rank and the trade in bottled 
goods was as rushing as the bar patronage. 

The first real convulsion in the death 
struggle of John Barleycorn was the day the 
armistice was signed. The evening of that 
day, when I was on my way to the Red 
Cross Hospital, I heard the sound of music. 
I turned and looked down Broadway and 
coming towards me was a band with a crowd 
in front and a crowd behind it, and leading 
the procession was a little fellow. I had 
never seen him intoxicated but twice before — 
one time when the president of a corporation 
was giving a barbecue at Columbia Gardens 
and drinks were free — and at another time 
at the old Silver Bow Club, when all who 
wished were at liberty to hover around the 
punch-bowl. Late that night a soldier said 
to me, "I have just been to a cabaret. I 
wonder if the husbands and wives will ever 
get straightened out and back to their right 
homes." 

That night saw the first convulsion of the 
old friend and enemy. These spasms fol- 
lowed at intervals until the night of the thir- 



Going Dry 167 

tieth, when the patient gasped and struggled 
and passed into a state of coma and at mid- 
night, while surrounded by devoted friends, 
flickered, flashed and passed away. 

Soon after midnight I went to the Club 
to attend the wake. A dance was being given 
that night to celebrate the advent of pro- 
hibition and wake the corpse of Barleycorn, 
and, as is usually the case, the unexpected 
happened. All eyes had been turned on the 
Silver Bow anticipating a rousing time, but 
it turned out to be one of the quietest affairs 
ever given at the Club. There were only a 
few drunks carried out and one or two broken 
bones. There were many people present, 
but all seemed uncertain of themselves and 
the whole affair lacked the brilliancy of 
former years. Newcomers hardly knew what 
to do, and for that reason held back. In- 
decision permeated the air. A peculiar men- 
tal condition seemed to possess each one. 
Some argued, "It's because it is not New 
Year's eve." Others, "It is because the date 
was changed." 

The following day I went there again, 
and on the bar stood a row of bottles labeled, 
"Grape Juice," "Bevo," and so on, and just 



168 Sketches of Butte 

behind those new faces was the old familiar 
motto. The lines differ somewhat from the 
original that hangs in "Ye Olde Cheshire 
Cheese" of London, a part of the old town 
that is fast disappearing off the face of the 
earth. It is where Dr. Johnson reigned 
supreme; a resort where Sir Oliver Gold- 
smith, Charles Dickens, and many others 
prominent in literatm-e spent much time; 
where Nell Gwynne and Charles II often 
lunched together. 

"If on thy theme I rightly think, 
There are five reasons why men drink: 
Good wine, a friend, because I'm dry, 
At least, I shall be b3^e-and-bye. 
Or any other reason why." 

While I was there a man came in, looked 
around and said as he passed out, "How 
strange it seems. It is like a land without 
a flag — without an army." As he turned 
and left the cheerless room, I thought of 
Omar Khayyam's lines. 

"Then said another with a long-drawn sigh. 
My clay with long oblivion is gone dry ; 
But fill me with the old familiar juice, 
Methinks I might recover bye-and-b3^e." 



Going Dry 169 

And so Butte after a wet lifetime signed 
up with the Prohibitionists and became a 
dry town with many a full- stocked cellar, 
and the "wash-boiler still" working fast. 

There will be no more classy "joy rides" 
to the festive road-house; there will be no 
more gay parties around the roulette table 
or the faro bank. Members of the four hun- 
dred and the underworld will be segregated. 
There will be no more large tips to drivers 
for patiently sitting around all night waiting 
to drive merrymakers uptown. The largest 
tip ever given in Butte was given to "Fat 
Jack" by a multi-millionaire. 

In early days Jack borrowed an amount 
of money from this man, who was a friend. 
The friend took the borrower's note for the 
sum. The paper was laid away and in time 
forgotten. In later years the loaner became 
one of Butte's wealthiest citizens. 

One day recently he was looking over some 
old papers and came across the note he had 
long since forgotten. He put it in his pocket. 
He was to leave for California in a few days, 
and when the time for departure came, he 
called Jack by 'phone and said, "I want you 
to drive me to the Oregon Short Line." It 



170 Sketches of Butte 

was not an unusual call and Jack promptly 
responded. When they reached the station 
the old-time friend said, "How much do I 
owe you?" Jack quietly answered, "Two 
dollars." The friend said, "All right," and 
then took from his pocket the bit of paper 
and handed it to Jack with the words, "I'll 
give you this as a tip." With accrued inter- 
est, the amount ran into the thousands. 

Homer Davenport, the famous cartoonist, 
who became acquainted with "Fat Jack" 
while visiting in the west, once rescued some 
Butte people, who were visiting in New 
York, from an embarrassing predicament 
when their identity as Butte residents was 
questioned. Hastily drawing a sketch of 
"Fat Jack," he submitted it to them with the 
assertion, "If you can tell me who this is, 
I'll know that you are from Butte." "It's 
'Fat Jack,' " they answered in chorus. He 
had drawn a splendid sketch of the tall, thin 
driver, not forgetting the rusty silk hat and 
ever-present cigar. 

Jack looks out of place driving a taxi, and 
says to those who ask questions, "The old 
town has lost caste." 



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Chapter Nineteen 
AT THE PRESENT TIME 

At the present time young trees grow in 
the cemeteries. Monuments and attractive 
head-stones supplant some of the wooden 
crosses. Pansies grow where tansy weed 
used to hold full sway. A new Country 
Club graces the "Flat," where pretty bunga- 
lows are springing up like weeds grown after 
a spring shower, or should we say like dainty 
cactus blossoms on a desert. 

Legislators have long since quit leaving 
their transoms open. "What's the use?" they 
say. Some leading citizens still have each 
other watched by plain clothes men, for sus- 
picion permeates the air. 

Invitations with R. S. V. P. are still issued 
to hangings, the last one taking place the 
early morning of January 14th, 1918. At 
the hour of the execution it was still dark. 
Three men were executed and long before 
that hour men, women and children jostled 

171 



172 Sketches of Butte 

each other to gain admittance to a place 
where they might see a hmnan being put to 
death, and it was necessary to call out the 
militia to quiet the rioting. 

Now trees grow in some parts of the city, 
and there are some pretty lawns and flowers. 
A new court-house stands on the site of the 
old "Palace of Sorrows." Coming in touch 
with nature children will develop differently 
— green leaves and flowers to look at and 
green swards to play on instead of tailing 
dumps will take them from the metallic and 
in their minds will come beauty instead of 
corruption. With beauty and a clean whole- 
some mind, honor will come and that gives 
nerve to drive away fear and soon Butte 
will be a city where people do not speak in 
an undertone or first look around to see if 
there is danger of being overheard. 

Fascination and tragedy seem to be writ- 
ten everywhere. Fear is in the expression 
of many faces — a fear of some one in power 
to injure or with money to corrupt. With 
it all there is a something that draws one 
back to the place — a fascination we cannot 
understand. Changes in the place have been 
tragic. 



At the Present Time 173 

The white man came from towards the 
morning light and the Indians followed the 
setting sun, and are now seldom seen except 
when brought into the city as witnesses 
in bootlegging cases. In a few short years 
their stoiy will be told in the pages of a 
novel and pictured in the movies. No more 
wild doings of the picturesque cowboys or 
blare of the hurdy-gurdy, for prohibition 
killed the inspiration. 

The road-agent seems to stay, but is not 
as picturesque a character as in frontier times. 
There are some mighty good friendships left, 
but as a rule the word has been commercial- 
ized, and there is not the old standard of 
manhood in the place. The "bull-fence" is 
built around Company properties, and above 
this fence barb-wire is strung from pole to 
pole, and through the wire volts of electricity 
can be passed. 

In early days the souvenir gatherers were 
in evidence as they are today. An enthusias- 
tic collector located the grave of "Club- 
foot George," one of the five bandits who 
were lynched in Virginia City in the early 
sixties. He disinterred the body, removed 
the deformed foot, had it preserved, and 



174 Sketches of Butte 

placed in a curio case. A gruesome souvenir 
of those scarlet days. "Fat Jack," bent with 
the weight of years, has folded his tent and 
gone to the Old Soldiers' Home in California. 

As the stranger rides to his hotel he says 
to himself, "How many men seem to be out 
of work." It is not that; they merely are off 
shift and have few places to go, for there 
are no city parks or pleasant streets where 
they may walk, so they stand around on the 
sidewalks of the business center. 

One morning, recently, I returned to the 
city after a short absence. The side of the 
mountain was wrapped in a blanket of un- 
sullied snow that had fallen during the night. 
As the day grew brighter columns of slate- 
colored smoke rose from the mine stacks and 
spread, forming a mauve-colored canopy over 
the city, and from this overhanging atmos- 
phere, quietly — like a gentle snow — came 
flakes of soot. 

That forenoon I went into a restaurant 
for my coffee. A truly frontier place where 
we sit on stools at a counter, and just be- 
yond several cooks stand at a large range. 
Instead of men waiters calling out for the 
cook to hear "Adam and Eve on a raft," 



At the Present Time 175 

when the patron ordered poached eggs on 
toast, or "Jew's funeral with hearse on the 
side," meaning roast pork with gravy on the 
side, attractive young women in black and 
white uniform! took the orders. 

"What'll it be?" one asked, as I took my 
seat. 

Receiving the order, she quietly turned 
and gave it to one of the men at the range. 

While I sat there a man came in and said 
in a sort of off-hand manner: "The bank 
on the corner has just been held up." 

The statement seemed to cause no excite- 
ment amongst those at the counter. He then 
told me how a few weeks previous a lone 
bandit had held up a bank on the "Flat." 
He said it was in broad daylight and the 
bandit made the officers of the bank lie down 
on their stomachs and crawl into the vault, 
where he locked them in, and then took what 
money there was on the counters. 

As he passed out another friend came in 
and said, with a smile playing over his face: 
"I've just been up to the Federal Court, 
where they've got a bunch up for illicit pre- 
scribing of 'dope.' " 

I asked him what kind. 



176 Sketches of Butte 

"JMostly morphine," he answered; "a pound 
or so at a tirne," he smiled. 

During the afternoon, I met an officer 
who showed me a poor attempt at an early- 
day vigilante notice that had just been sent 
to an inoffensive citizen. It was a "Turn of 
the Tables," for the criminal was trying to 
frighten the other fellow. It was the work 
of a novice and showed a poor mind. The 
3-7-77 was there, but in crude manner. 

After leaving him I slowly walked up the 
hill towards my club, and as I was nearing 
the building I saw a large automobile truck 
turn into a passageway between the Club 
and Court House and then stop. Officers 
had just raided a moonshiner's establishment. 
It was a private still in a residence. On the 
truck were two barrels filled with water and 
sugar fermentation, several boxes containing 
cans of Old Dixie molasses, cans filled with 
mash, a wash-boiler of fresh brew and a queer 
looking affair the officers told me was the 
still itself. It was about one-third filled with 
fresh ingredients and ready for work. 

It was getting along towards evening, and 
the atmosphere was clear, and after stopping 
at the Club for a short time, I boarded an 



At the Present Time 177 

electric car that passed through Dublin Gulch 
and then over trestles on its way to the 
summit, winding around in view of the ruins 
of the old Lexington silver mine, in its day 
one of the greatest silver producers in th^ 
country, but today worked for zinc, and from 
the car window, as it climbed the mountain, 
I could see the semi-ruins of the old Alice 
and Moulton mines, both in early days great 
silver producers. And then we passed closer 
to the Lexington. In the very early days 
of the camp the ore from this mine was 
sacked and shipped to Swansea, Wales, for 
treatment. 

When the car reached the end of the line 
twilight was coming on and I stayed on top 
to witness that pretty sight. As the sun 
settled behind the w^estern range its bright 
rays rested on the snow-capped Highlands 
and the summit blazed like a jeweled crown, 
the whole scene making a picture of marvel- 
ous beauty. 

In a few moments the scene changed to 
one so different, so w^eird and fascinating, 
but just as beautiful. The lights of the city 
and valley began to shine forth, some a bright 
flash, while others just a soft glimmer. The 



178 Sketches of Butte 

Great Divide took on a deeper hue and 
seemed to close in on the valley. Soon a 
passenger train came through a tunnel, and, 
like a jeweled snake, began to wend its way 
along the mountain side towards the city. 
The headlight of the engine, as it passed 
around curves, cast out rays of light like fire 
from a dragon's nostrils. 

All at once the heavens were lighted by 
brilliant rays that came from what seemed to 
be a cascade of fire. It was the emptying 
from a high trestle of a carload of molten 
slag. 

I watched the orange sun go down 

And the world take on its crimson glow, 

And through the haze I seemed to see 
The Indian tents of long ago. 

For today on the mesa the soldiers' tents 

Supplant the Indian tepee. 
And the white men thrive where the red man failed, 

From the East to the Western sea. 

No longer the dust of the buffalo herd 

Is seen on the mighty range. 
And of the antelope few are left 

To witness thei mightier change. 



At the Present Time 179 

The engines puff where the ox-teams trod, 

And the tall steel girders run 
Beside the tracks where the buffalo bones 

Bleach in the blistering sun. 

For progress rules with a cold, hard hand. 

And the old romance is dead 
When stolid farmers plow the land 

That once was the rangers' bed. 

Her brow isi stained by the metal crown 
She has wrung from the land today, — 

But with wistful eyes some of us dream 
Of the West that has passed away. 



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